Hist  Div 

WZ 

350 

K36c 

1892 


jutions  ot  Physicians  to  English  and 
American  Literature. 


By  Robert  C.  Kenncr,  A.  M.,  M.  D, 


5£S^^^^ 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 
Dr.    E.   BELT 


GASTRIC  DERANGEMENTS 


HORSFORD'S  ACID  PHOSPHATE. 


Unlike  all  other  forms  of  phosphorus  in  combination,  such  as  dilute 
phosphoric  acid,  glacial  phosphoric  acid,  neutral  phosphate  of  lime,  hypo- 
phosphites,  etc.,  the  phosphates  in  this  product  are  in  solution,  and  readily 
assimilable  by  the  system,  and  it  not  only  causes  no  trouble  with  the 
digestive  organs,  but  promotes  in  a  marked  degree  their  healthful  action. 

In  certain  forms  of  dyspepsia  it  acts  as  a  specific. 

Dr.  H.  R.  Merville,  Milwaukee,  Wis.,  says:  "  I  regard  it  as  val- 
uable in  the  treatment  of  gastric  derangements  affecting  digestion." 

Dr.  E.  Osborne.  Mason  City,  la.,  says:  "I  consider  it  a  valuable 
addition  to  the  remedies  in  use  for  the  relief  of  gastric  disorders  depend- 
ent on  enervation." 

Dr.  Albert  Day,  Superintendent  of  the  Washington  Home,  B©s- 
ton,  says:  "  For  several  years  I  have  used  it  in  cases  of  alcoholism  and 
gastric  irritation.     It  is  of  special  value." 

Dr.  T.  G.  CoMSTOCK,  of  the  Good  Samaritan  Hospital,  St.  Louis, 
says:  "  For  some  years  we  have  used  it  in  a  variety  of  derane:ements 
characterized  by  debility,  as  also  in  chronic  gastric  ailments.  It  is  ap- 
proved of,  unanimously,  by  the  medical  staff  of  this  Hospital." 

Dr.  G.  W.  Whitney,  Marshall,  Minn.,  says:  "I  have  used  it  in 
debility  of  the  nervous  system,  and  deranged  condition  of  all  the  secre- 
tory organs.     I  esteem  it  highly." 


Send  for  descriptive  circular.  Physicians  who  wish  to  test  it  will  be 
furnished  a  bottle  on  application,  without  expense  except  express 
charges. 

Prepared  under  the  direction  of  Prof.  E.  N.  Horsford,  by  the 

EUMPOED  CHEMICAL  WORKS,  Providence,  R.  I. 


Beware  of  Substitutes  and  Imitations. 

CAUTION:— Jie  sure  the  tvord  "  ITorsford's  "  is  Printed  on  the  label. 
All  others  are  spurious.       Never  sold  in  bulk. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  OF  PHYSICI/INS 


TO 


ENGLISH  AND  /MERICAN  LITERATURE. 


BY 


ROBERT  C.  KENNER,  A.  M.,  M.  D. 


1892. 
GEORGE    S.  DAVIS, 

DETROIT,    MICH. 


Copyrighted  by 

GEORGE  S.  DA^^S. 

1892. 


c<^ 


THIS  LITTLE  VOLUME  IS  MOST  RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED 

TO 

MR.   PAUL  KRATZ,  OF  LOUISVILLE,  KY., 

EETWEEN  WHOM  AND  THE  AUTHOR  THERE  HAS  EXISTED  THE 

WARMEST  FRIENDSHIP  SINCE  THE  FIRST  MOMENT 

OF  THEIR  ACQUAINTANCE. 


PREFACE. 


The  object  of  this  little  volume  is  to  give  an  account  of 
the  activity  of  physicians  in  the  field  of  general  literature. 
It  is  impossible  in  a  volume  of  this  size  to  give  more  than  an 
outline  of  the  subject,  and  I  have  considered  only  the  most 
prominent  authors.  Anything  like  a  complete  list  would 
require  several  large  volumes.  I  have  frequently  used 
selections  which  are  used  in  Chambers'  and  in  Cleveland's 
works  on  English  literature,  and  here  make  acknowledgment. 

ROBERT   C.   KENNER. 
Louisville,  Kv  ,  July  i,  1S92. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  OF  PHYSICIANS  TO  ENGLISH 
AND  AMERICAN    LITERATURE. 

*'  But  the  knowledge  of  nature  is  only  half  the 
task  of  a  poet;  he  must  be  acquainted  likewise 
with  all  the  modes  of  life.  His  character  requires 
that  he  estimate  the  happiness  and  misery  of  every 
condition;  observe  the  power  of  all  the  passions  in  all 
their  combinations,  and  trace  the  changes  of  the 
human  mind  as  they  are  modified  by  various  institu- 
tions and  accidental  influences  of  climate  or  custom, 
from  the  sprightliness  of  infancy  to  the  despondence 
of  decrepitude.  *  *  *  His  labor  is  not  yet  at 
an  end;  he  must  know  many  languages  and  many 
sciences." — Samuel  Johnson. 

The  writer  of  prose  or  poetry  who  would  produce 
works  which  contain  thoughts  and  inferences  which 
will  go  down  to  posterity  must  of  necessity  be  ac- 
quainted with  the  passions  of  men  in  all  grades  of 
society.  Mere  scholarship  can  never  make  up  this 
want,  and  the  monk,  versed  in  all  the  erudition  of  the 
ages,  would  come  far  short  of  producing  poems  which 
would  touch  the  heart  of  a  nation  as  do  those  of 
Robert  Burns.  Shakespeare  was  acquainted  with  the 
hopes  and  fears  of  all  classes.  He  was  really  a  man 
of  all  the  people,  and  had  mingl-ed  in  their  loves  and 
hates  and  known  the  slavery  of  poverty  and  the  lib- 
erty of  wealth,  and  he  was  the  greatest  interpreter  of 


the  human  heart  and  mind  that  has  ever  given  the 
resources  of  his  study  to  the  world.  Blair  properly 
defined  poetry  to  be  "  the  language  of  passion." 
Without  an  acquaintance  with  the  doings  of  the  low, 
the  great,  the  wise,  and  the  simple,  it  is  not  easy  to 
imagine  how  a  poet,  a  man  of  genius,  can  breathe 
into  his  productions  the  breath  of  passion.  Of  course, 
being  learned,  he  could  imitate,  but  the  imitation 
would  be  transparent  and  altogether  lack  the  color- 
ing of  nature,  which  is  obtained  by  contact  with  the 
world,  and  which  makes  the  idealistic  creature  of  the 
true  poet  a  real  personage.  Those  authors,  then, 
who  have  left  behind  works  which  will  always  be  read 
and  cherished,  have  been  children  of  nature  and  citi- 
zens of  the  actual  world,  have  known  how  hardships 
affect  the  heart,  and  been  participants  in  the  struggle 
with  opposition  and  disappointment  for  place  and 
recognition  in  the  world. 

When  one  reads  the  "Traveller,"  he  feels  with 
Goldsmith  that  love  of  country  which  beams  through- 
out the  poem,  and  he  enters  with  delight  into  those 
splendid  meditations  upon  the  countries  through  which 
he  roamed  as  a  wandering  musician.  Goldsmith  knew 
the  common  ambitions^  passions,  and  aims  of  the  people 
in  all  these  countries,  and  easily  turned  this  treasured 
knowledge  into  immortal  verse.  Now  the  physician, 
more  than  any  other  man  in  society,  occupies  the 
position  to  observe  the  ways  and  passions  of  all.  He 
is  called  when  death  is  about  to  remove  the  loved  one 


—  3  — 

from  the  family  circle,  and  is  almost  daily  called  to 
witness  the  most  vivid  depictures  of  the  passions.  He 
goes  to  the  palace  of  the  rich,  and  to  the  poor  man's 
hovel,  and  to  the  den  of  wickedness,  where  he  often 
has  to  remain  long,  and  of  course  is  compelled  to 
learn  more  or  less  of  their  actions,  superstitions,  and 
modes  of  life.  To  him  the  matron  and  the  maid,  the 
saint  and  the  sinner,  open  their  hearts,  and  nothing 
is  withheld.  He  is  then  eminently  in  the  place  to 
observe  all  those  qualities  of  heart  and  mind  which 
form  such  a  large  part  of  the  poet's  essential  knowl- 
edge. I  shall  not  go  back  much  beyond  the  Eliza- 
bethan period.  Beyond  that  time  the  medical  sci- 
ences had  not  begun  the  great  strides  which  charac- 
terize their  march  after  Harvey's  discovery.  This 
brilliant  period  of  intellectual  vigor,  like  every  subse- 
quent 'one,  has  witnessed  a  number  of  physicians  who 
have  found  rest  and  recreation  in  their  contributions 
to  literature. 

I  shall  consider  as  the  starting  point  of  this 
-essay,  then,  the  time  which  may  be  looked  upon  as 
the  period  when  the  discovery  of  the  circulation  of 
the  blood  may  be  said  to  have  gained  common  recog- 
nition. It  is  well  known  to  all  students  of  medical 
literature  that  many  refused  to  believe  in  Harvey's 
discovery. 

A  poet,  whose  fame  is  imperishable  and  whose 
heart  was  filled  with  poetic  sympathies,  was  Henry 
Vaughan  (1621-1695).     He  was  always  poor,  and  the 


—  4  — 

history  of  his  Hfe  is  the  record  of  many  sad  and 
rigorous  experiences.  Yet  his  poems  show  that  the 
fire  of  true  genius  lit  up  his  way.  It  has  been  said 
that  his  poems  are  harsh,  and  Campbell  is  not  disposed 
to  give  the  poet  great  credit.  I  believe  those  who 
read  his  poems  with  an  honest  desire  to  discern  his 
excellences  will  not  fail  to  find  them  beset  with  some 
of  the  most  radiant  gems  that  scintillate  in  the  coronet 
of  the  truly  inspired  bard.  He  was  a  devoted  Chris- 
tian, and  his  works  are  largely  of  a  religious  character. 
The  following  specimens  of  his  poetry  will  give 
the  reader  an  idea  of  his  powers  and  the  tenor  of  his 
thoughts: 

EARLY    RISING    AND    PRAYER. 

When  first  thy  eyes  unveil,  give  thy  soul  leave 

To  do  the  like;  our  bodies  but  forerun 
The  spirit's  duty:  true  hearts  spread  and  heave 

Unto  their  God,  as  flowers  do  to  the  sun; 
Give  Him  thy  first  thoughts  then,  so  shalt  thou  keep 
Him  company  all  day,  and  in  Him  sleep. 
Yet  never  sleep  the  sun  up;  prayer  should 

Dawn  with  the  day:  there  are  set  awful  hours 
'Twixt  heaven  and  us;  the  manna  was  not  good 

After  sun  rising;  far  day  sullies  flowers: 
Rise  to  prevent  the  sun;  sleep  doth. sins  glut. 
And  heaven's  gate  opens  when  the  world's  is  shut. 
Walk  with  thy  fellow-creatures;  note  the  hush 

And  whisperings  amongst  them.     Not  a  spiing 
Or  leaf  but  hath  his  morning  hymn;  each  bush 

And  oak  doth  know  I  Am,     Can'st  thou  not  sing? 
O  leave  thy  cares  and  follies  !     Go  this  way, 
And  thou  art  sure  to  prosper  all  the  day. 


—  5  — 

Serve  God  before  the  world:  let  Him  not  go 

Until  thou  hast  a  blessing;  then  resign 
The  whole  under  Him.  and  remember  who 

Prevailed  by  wrestling  ere  the  sun  did  shine; 
Pour  oil  upon  the  stones,  weep  for  thy  sin, 
Then  journey  on.  and  have  an  eye  to  heaven. 

Mornings  are  mysteries;  the  first  the  world's  youth, 
Man's  resurrection,  and  the  future's  bud, 

Shroud  in  their  births;  the  crown  of  life,  light,  truth. 
Is  styled  their  star;  the  stone  and  hidden  food; 

Three  blessings  wait  upon  them,  one  of  which 

Should  move— they  make  us  holy,  happy,  rich. 

When  the  world's  up,  and  every  swarm  abroad, 
Keep  well  thy  temper,  mix  not  with  each  clay; 

Despatch  necessities;  life  hath  a  load 

Which  must  be  carried  on  and  safely  may; 

Yet  keep  those  cares  withaut  thee;  let  the  heart 

Be  God's  alone,  and  choose  the  better  part, 

THE    RAINBOW. 

Still  young  and  fine,  but  what  is  still  in  view 

We  slight  as  old  and  soiled,  though  fresh  and  new. 

How  bright  wert  thou  when  Shem's  admiring  eye 

Thy  burnished  flaming  arch  did  first  descry; 

When  Zerah,  Nahor,  Haran,  Abram,  Lot, 

The  youthful  world's  gray  fathers,  in  one  knot 

Did  with  intentive  looks  watch  every  hour 

For  thy  new  light,  and  tremble  at  each  shower  ! 

And  when  thou   doth   shine,   darkness   looks   white   and 

fair; 
Forms  turn  to  music,  clouds  to  smiles  and  air; 
Rain  gently  spends  his  honey-drops,  and  pours 


—  6  — 

Balm  on  the  cleft  earth,  milk  on  grass  and  flowers. 
Bright  pledge  of  peace  and  sunshine,  the  sure  tie 
Of  thy  Lord's  hand,  the  object  of  His  eye  ! 
When  I  behold  thee,  though  my  light  be  dim. 
Distinct  and  low,  I  can  in  thine  see  Him, 
Who  looks  upon  thee  from  His  glorious  throne. 
And  minds  the  covenant  betwixt  all  and  One. 

John  Locke  (1632-1704). — One  of  the  most  re- 
splendent intellects  which  has  ever  dawned  upon  this 
planet  was  that  of  John  Locke.  He  left  to  posterity 
his  essay  "  On  Human  Understanding  "  and  other 
great  works  which  have  enriched  our  literature  in  a 
monumental  manner.  Locke  was  the  son  of  a  gentle- 
man of  small  fortune,  and  received  his  education 
mostly  at  Oxford.  He  had  not  been  practicing  medi- 
cine long  before  he  was  called  to  attend  the  Earl  of 
Shaftesbury.  He  succeeded  in  relieving  or  curing 
this  nobleman  of  a  troublesome  affection,  and  the 
patient,  as  is  many  times  the  case,  became  warmly 
attached  to  his  physician;  for  years  they  were  friends, 
and  his  fortune  rose  and  fell  with  that  of  the  Earl. 
He  was  forced  at  one  time  on  account  of  political 
persecutions  to  fly  to  Holland  for  an  asylum.  While 
stopping  in  Holland,  he  was  often  compelled  to 
remain  hidden  in  the  most  secluded  portions  of  the 
country  to  avoid  detection  and  capture  by  relentless 
enemies.  But  when  the  Prince  of  Orange  ascended 
the  British  throne  he  was  allowed  to  return  to  his 
native   England   and  live  in   comparative   exemption 


from  disturbance  of  political  strife  and  jealousy.  We 
give  some  selections  taken  at  random  from  his  works, 
which  will  give  the  reader  an  idea  of  the  profundity 
of  this  great  physician's  intellect: 

"CHRISTMAS    CEREMONIES    AT    CLEVES. 

"  About  one  in  the  morning  I  went  a-gossiping  to 
our  Lady.  Think  me  not  profane,  for  the  name  is  a 
great  deal  modester  than  the  service  I  was  at.  I 
shall  not  describe  all  the  particulars  I  observed  in 
that  church,  being  the  principal  of  the  Catholics  in 
Cleves;  but  only  those  that  were  particular  to  the 
occasion.  Near  the  high  altar  was  a  little  altar  for 
this  day's  solemnity;  the  scene  was  a  stable  wherein 
was  an  ox,  an  ass,  a  cradle,  the  Virgin,  the  Babe, 
Joseph,  shepherds,  and  angels,  dramatis  persojicB. 
Had  they  but  given  them  motion,  it  had  been  a  per- 
fect puppet-play,  and  might  have  deserved  pence 
apiece;  for  they  were  of  the  same  size  and  make  that 
our  English  puppets  are;  and  I  am  confident  these 
shepherds  and  this  Joseph  are  kin  to  that  Judith  and 
Holophernes  which  I  have  seen  at  Bartholomew  Fair. 
A  little  without  the  stable  was  a  flock  of  sheep,  cut 
out  of  cards;  and  these,  as  they  then  stood  without 
their  shepherds,  appeared  to  me  the  best  emblem  I 
had  seen  a  long  time,  and  methought  represented 
these  poor  innocent  people,  who,  whilst  their  shep- 
herds pretend  so  much  to  follow  Christ,  and  pay  their 
devotion  to   Him,  are  left  unregarded  in  the  barren 


—  8  — 

wilderness.  This  was  the  show;  the  music  to  it  was 
all  vocal  in  the  quire  adjoining,  but  such  as  I  never 
heard.  They  had  strong  voices,  but  so  ill-tuned,  so 
ill-managed,  that  it  was  their  misfortune,  as  well  as 
ours,  that  they  could  be  heard.  He  that  could  not, 
though  he  had  a  cold,  make  better  music  with  a 
chevy  chase  over  a  pot  of  smooth  ale,  deserved  well 
to  pay  the  reckoning,  and  go  away  athirst.  However, 
they  were  the  honestest  singing-men  I  have  ever 
seen,  for  they  endeavoured  to  earn  their  money,  and 
earned  it  certainly  with  pains  enough;  for  what  they 
wanted  in  skill,  they  made  up  in  loudness  and  variety. 
Every  one  had  his  own  tune,  and  the  result  of  all  was 
like  the  noise  of  choosing  parliament-men,  where 
every  one  endeavours  to  cry  loudest.  Besides  the 
men,  there  were  a  company  of  little  choristers.  I 
thought,  when  I  saw  them  at  first,  they  had  danced 
to  the  other's  music,  and  that  it  had  been  your  Gray's 
Inn  revels;  for  they  were  jumping  up  and  down  about 
a  good  charcoal  fire  that  was  in  the  middle  of  the 
quire — this  their  devotion  and  their  singing  was 
enough,  I  think,  to  keep  them  warm,  though  it  were 
a  very  cold  night — but  it  was  not  dancing  but  singing 
they  served  for;  for,  when  it  came  to  their  turns,  away 
they  ran  to  their  places,  and  there  they  made  as  good 
harmony  as  a  concert  of  little  pigs  would,  and  they 
were  much  about  as  cleanly.  Their  part  bemg  done, 
out  they  sallied  again  to  the  fire,  where  they  played 
till   their  cue  called    them,  and    then    back    to  their 


—  9  — 

places  they  huddled.  So  negligent  and  slight  are 
they  in  their  service  in  a  place  where  the  nearness  of 
adversaries  might  teach  them  to  be  more  careful." 

''CAUSES    OF     WEAKNESS     IN     MEN'S    UNDERSTANDINGS. 

"  There   is,  it    is  visible,  great    variety    in   men's 
understandings,  and  their  natural  constitutions  put  so 
wide  a  difference  between  some  men  in  this  respect, 
that  art  and  industry  would  never  be  able  to  master; 
and  their  very  natures  seem  to  want  a  foundation  to 
raise  on  it  that  which   other  men  easily  attain  unto. 
Amongst  men  of  equal  education,  there  is  great   in- 
equality  of   parts.     And   the   woods   of  America,  as 
well  as  the  schools  of  Athens,  produce  men  of  several 
abilities  in  the  same  kind.     Though  this  be  so,  yet  I 
imagine   men  come  very  short  of  what  they  might 
attain   unto  in  their  several  degrees,  by  a  neglect  of 
their    understandings.      A    few    rules   of    logic    are 
thought  to  be  sufficient   in   this  case   for  those   who 
pretend  to  the  highest  improvement  ;  whereas  I  think 
there  are  a  great  many  natural  defects  in  the  under- 
standing capable  of  amendment,  which  are  overlooked 
and    wholly  neglected.     And   it   is  easy   to   perceive 
that  men  are  guilty  of  a  great  many  faults  in  the  ex- 
ercise  and   improvement  of  this  faculty  of  the  mind, 
which  hinder  them  in  their  progress,  and  keep  them 
in  ignorance  and  error  all  their  lives.      Some  of  them 
I    shall   take    notice   of,  and   endeavor  to  point  out 
proper  remedies  for,  in  the  following  discourse. 


"Besides  the  want  of  determined  ideas,  and  of 
sagacity  and  exercise  in  finding  out  and  laying  in 
order  intermediate  ideas,  there  are  three  m.iscarriages 
that  men  are  guilty  of  in  reference  to  their  reason, 
whereby  this  faculty  is  hindered  in  them  from  that 
service  it  might  do  and  was  designed  for.  And  he 
that  reflects  upon  the  actions  and  discourses  of  man- 
kind, will  find  their  defects  in  this  kind  very  fre- 
quent and  very  observable. 

"  I.  The  first  is  of  those  who  seldom  reason  at 
all,  but  do  and  think  according  to  the  example  of 
others,  whether  parents,  neighbors,  ministers,  or  who 
else  they  are  pleased  to  make  choice  of  to  have  an 
implicit  faith  in,  for  the  saving  of  themselves  the 
pains  and  trouble  of  thinking  and  examining  for 
themselves. 

''  2.  The  second  is  of  those  who  put  passion  in 
the  place  of  reason,  and  being  resolved  that  shall 
govern  their  actions  and  arguments,  neither  use  their 
own,  nor  hearken  to  other  people's  reason,  any  further 
than  it  suits  their  humor,  interest,  or  party;  and  these 
one  may  observe,  commonly  content  themselves  with 
words  which  have  no  distinct  ideas  to  them,  though, 
in  other  matters,  that  they  come  with  an  unbiased 
indifferency  to,  they  want  not  abilities  to  talk  and 
hear  reason,  where  they  have  no  secret  inclination 
that  hinders  them  from  being  untractable  to  it. 

"  3.  The  third  sort  is  of  those  who  readily  and 
sincerely  follow  reason,  but  for  want  of  having  that 


—   II  — 

which  one  may  call  large,  sound,  round-about  sense, 
have  not  a  full  view  of  all  that  relates  to  the  question, 
and  may  be  of  moment  to  decide  it.  We  are  all 
short-sighted,  and  very  often  see  but  one  side  of  a 
matter ;  our  views  are  not  extended  to  all  that  has  a 
connection  with  it.  From  this  defect,  I  think,  no 
man  is  free.  We  see  but  in  part  and  we  know  but  in 
part,  and  therefore  it  is  no  wonder  we  conclude  not 
right  from  our  partial  views.  This  might  instruct 
the  proudest  esteemer  of  his  own  parts  how  useful  it 
is  to  talk  and  consult  with  others,  even  such  as  came 
short  with  him  in  capacity,  quickness,  and  penetra- 
tion ;  for  since  no  one  sees  all,  and  we  generally  have 
different  prospects  of  the  same  thing,  according  to 
our  different,  as  I  may  say,  positions  to  it,  it  is  not  in- 
congruous to  think,  nor  beneath  any  man  to  try, 
whether  another  may  not  have  notions  of  things 
which  have  escaped  him,  and  which  his  reason  would 
make  use  of  if  they  came  into  his  mind. 

"  The  faculty  of  reasoning  seldom  or  never  de- 
ceives those  who  trust  to  it  ;  its  consequences  from 
what.it  builds  on  are  evident  and  certain;  but  that 
which  it  oftenest,  if  not  only,  misleads  us  in,  is,  that 
the  principles  from  which  we  conclude,  the  ground 
upon  which  we  bottom  our  reasoning,  are  but  a  part; 
something  is  left  out  which  should  go  into  the  reckon- 
ing to  make  it  just  and  exact." 


12    

*'  PLEASURE    AND    PAIN. 

"  The  infinitely  wise  Author  of  our  being,  having 
given  us  the  power  over  several  parts  of  our  bodies, 
to  move  or  keep  them  at  rpst,  as  we  think  fit;  and, 
also,  by  the  motions  of  them,  to  move  ourselves  and 
contiguous  bodies,  in  which  consist  all  the  actions  of 
our  body;  having  also  given  a  power  to  our  mind, 
in  several  instances,  to  choose  amongst  its  ideas  which 
it  will  think  on,  and  to  pursue  the  inquiry  of  this  or 
that  subject  with  consideration  and  attention;  to  ex- 
cite us  to  these  actions  of  thinking  and  motion  that 
we  are  capable  of,  has  been  pleased  to  join  to  several 
thoughts  and  several  sensations  a  perception  of  de- 
light. If  this  were  wholly  separated  from  all  our 
outward  sensations  and  inward  thoughts,  we  should 
have  no  reason  to  prefer  one  thought  or  action  to 
another,  negligence  to  attention,  or  motion  to  rest. 
And  so  we  should  neither  stir  our  bodies  nor  employ 
our  minds;  but  let  our  thoughts — if  I  may  so  call  it — 
run  adrift,  without  any  direction  or  design;  and  suffer 
the  ideas  of  our  minds,  like  unregarded  shadows,  to 
make  their  appearances  there,  as  it  happened,  without 
attending  to  them.  In  which  state  man,  however 
furnished  with  the  faculties  of  understanding  and 
will,  would  be  a  very  idle,  inactive  creature,  and  pass 
his  time  only  in  a  lazy,  lethargic  dream.  It  has  there- 
fore pleased  our  wise  Creator  to  annex  several  ob- 
jects, and  the  ideas  w^hich  we  receive  from  them,  as 
also  to  several  of  our  thoughts,  a  concomitant  pleas- 


—  13  — 

ure,  and  that  in  several  objects  to  several  degrees,  that 
those  faculties  which  He  had  endowed  us  with  might 
not  remain  wholly  idle  and  unemployed  by  us. 

'^  Pain  has  the  same  efficacy  and  use  to  set  us  on 
work  that  pleasure  has,  we  being  as  ready  to  employ 
our  faculties  to  avoid  that,  as  to  pursue  this;  only  this 
is  worth  our  consideration,   '  that  pain  is  often  pro- 
duced by  the  same   objects   and   ideas  that  produce 
pleasure  in  us.'     This,  their  near  conjunction,  which 
makes  us  often  feel  pain  in  the  sensations  where  we 
expected  pleasure,  gives  us  new  occasion  of  admiring 
the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  our  Maker,  who,  design- 
ing the  preservation  of  our  being,  has  annexed  pain 
to  the  application  of  many  things  to   our  bodies,  to 
warn  us  of  the  harm  that  they  will  do,  and  as  advices 
to  withdraw  from  them.     But  He,  not   designing  our 
preservation  barely,  but  the  preservation  of  every  part 
and  organ  in  its  perfection,  hath,  in  many  cases,  an- 
nexed   pain    to    those  very  ideas   which    delight    us. 
Thus  heat,  that  is  very  agreeable  to  us  in  one  degree, 
by  a  little  greater  increase  of  it  proves  no  ordinary 
torment;  and  the  most  pleasant  of  all  sensible  objects, 
light  itself,  if  there  be   too  much  of  it,   if   increased 
beyond  a  due  proportion  to  our  eyes,  causes  a  very 
painful  sensation;  which   is  wisely  and   favorably  so 
ordered  by  nature,  that  when  any  object  does,  by  the 
vehemency  of  its  operation,  disorder  the  instruments 
of  sensation,  whose  structures  cannot  but  be  very  nice 
and   delicate,   we   might  by  the  pain  be  warned  to 


—   14   — 

withdraw  before  the  organ  be  quite  put  out  of  order, 
and  so  be  unfitted  for  its  proper  function  for  the 
future.  The  consideration  of  those  objects  which 
produce  it  may  well  persuade  us  that  this  is  the  end 
or  use  of  pain.  For,  though  great  light  be  insuffer- 
able to  our  eyes,  yet  the  highest  degree  of  darkness 
does  not  at  all  disease  them;  because  that  causing  no 
disorderly  motion  in  it,  leaves  that  curious  organ  un- 
harmed in  its  natural  state.  But  yet  excess  of  cold, 
as  well  as  heat,  pains  us,  because  it  is  equally  destruc- 
tive to  that  temper  which  is  necessary  to  the  preser- 
vation of  life,  and  the  exercise  of  the  several  functions 
of  the  body,  and  which  consists  in  a  moderate  degree 
of  warmth,  or,  if  you  please,  a  motion  of  the  insensible 
parts  of  our  bodies,  confined  within  certain  bounds. 
Beyond  all  this  we  may  find  another  reason  why  God 
hath  scattered  up  and  down  several  degrees  of  pleas- 
ure and  pain  in  all  the  things  that  environ  and  affect 
us,  and  blended  them  together  in  almost  all  that  our 
thoughts  and  senses  have  to  do  with;  that  we,  finding 
imperfection,  dissatisfaction,  and  want  of  complete 
happiness  in  all  the  enjoyments  which  the  creatures 
can  afford  us,  might  be  led  to  seek  it  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  Him  '  with  whom  there  is  fullness  of  joy  and 
at  whose  right  hand  are  pleasures  for  evermore.'  " 

"history. 

"  The  stories  of  Alexander  and  C^sar,   further 
than  they  instruct  us  in  the  art  ot  living  well  and  fur- 


—  15  — 
nish  us  with  observations  of  wisdom  and  prudence, 
are  not  one  jot  to  be  preferred  to  the  history  of  Robin 
Hood  or  the  Seven  Wise  Masters.  I  do  not  deny  but 
history  is  very  useful  and  very  instructive  to  human 
life;  but  if  it  be  studied  only  for  the  reputation  of  be- 
ing a  historian  it  is  a  very  empty  thing;  and  he  that 
can  tell  all  the  particulars  of  Herodotus  and  Plu- 
tarch, Curtius  and  Livy,  without  making  any  other 
use  of  them,  may  be  an  ignorant  man  with  a  good 
memory  and  with  all  his  pains  hath  only  filled  his 
head  with  Christmas  tales.  And,  which  is  worse,  the 
greatest  part  of  the  history  being  made  up  of  wars 
and  conquests,  and  their  style,  especially  the  Romans, 
speaking  of  valour  as  the  chief,  if  not  the  only,  virtue, 
we  are  in  danger  to  be  misled  by  the  general  current 
and  business  of  history;  and,  looking  on  Alexander 
and  Caesar,  and  such  like  heroes,  as  the  highest  in- 
stances of  human  greatness,  because  they  each  of 
them  caused  the  death  of  several  hundred  thousand 
men,  and  the  ruin  of  a  much  greater  number,  overran 
a  great  part  of  the  earth  and  killed  the  inhabitants  to 
possess  themselves  of  their  countries — we  are  apt  to 
make  butchery  and  rapine  the  chief  marks  and  very 
essence  of  human  greatness.  And  if  civil  history  be  a 
great  dealer  of  it,  and  to  many  readers  thus  useless, 
curious  and  difficult  inquirings  in  antiquity  are  much 
more  so;  and  the  exact  dimensions  of  the  Colossus, 
or  figure  of  the  Capitol,  the  ceremonies  of  the  Greek 
and  Roman  marriages,  or  who  it  was  that  first  coined 


—  i6  — 

money;  these,  I  confess,  set  a  man  well  off  in  the 
world,  especially  amongst  the  learned,  but  set  him 
very  little  on  in  his  way.  *  *  *  j  shall  only  add 
one  word,  and  then  conclude;  and  that  is,  that  where- 
as in  the  beginning  I  cut  off  history  from  our  study 
as  a  useless  part,  as  certainly  it  is  where  it  is  read 
only  as  a  tale  that  is  told;  here,  on  the  other  side,  I 
recommend  it  to  one  who  hath  well  settled  in  his 
mind  the  principles  of  morality,  and  knows  how  to 
make  a  judgment  on  the  actions  of  men,  as  one  of 
the  most  useful  studies  he  can  apply  himself  to. 
There  he  shall  see  a  picture  of  the  world  and  the 
nature  of  mankind  and  so  learn  to  think  of  men  as 
they  are.  There  he  shall  see  the  rise  of  opmions  and 
find  from  what  slight  and  sometimes  shameful  occa- 
sions some  of  them  have  taken  their  rise,  which  yet 
afterwards  have  had  great  authority  and  passed 
almost  for  sacred  in  the  world  and  borne  down  all 
before  them.  There  also  one  may  learn  great  and 
useful  instructions  of  prudence  and  be  warned 
against  the  cheats  and  rogueries  of  the  world  with 
many  more  advantages  which  I  shall  not  here  enu- 
merate." 

Sir  Thomas  Browne  (1605-1682).— Sir  Thomas 
Browne  was  an  eccentric  but  highly  intellectual  gen- 
tleman who  devoted  his  life  to  the  practice  of  medi- 
cine and  to  the  cultivation  of  literature  as  a  pastime. 
Among  his  admirers  were  Samuel  Johnson.  Coleridge, 


—  17  — 

and  other  great  literary  luminaries.  Dr.  Browne  was 
a  zealous  lover  of  the  Latin  language,  and  his 
writings  abound  with  words  which  are  Latin,  but 
which  are  given  English  terminations.  He  traveled 
over  Ireland  and  a  large  part  of  the  continent  of 
Europe,  and  after  taking  his  medical  degree  at  Ley- 
den  he  commenced  the  practice  of  his  profession  at 
Norwich.  In  1642  his  "  Religio  Medici" — The  Re- 
ligion of  a  Physician — a  work  which  at  once  placed 
him  among  the  most  philosophical  writers  of  his  time, 
appeared.  His  next  work  was  "  Pseudodoxia  Epi- 
demica  " — A  Treatise  on  Vulgar  Errors.  The  object 
of  this  book  was  to  dispel  many  of  the  superstitions 
then  currently  believed  by  the  people.  An  enumera- 
tion of  the  absurd  beliefs  which  the  author  undertook 
to  eradicate  would  be  very  interesting  to  us  in  the 
dawn  of  the  twentieth  century,  but  we  have  room  for 
only  a  few.  It  was  in  Dr.  Browne's  time  commonly 
believed  that  a  crystal  "  was  ice  strongly  congealed;" 
that  diamonds  could  be  softened  and  dissolved  by  the 
blood  of  a  goat;  that  elephants  have  no  joints;  that 
storks  live  only  in  free  states. 

Dr.  Browne  was  without  question  one  of  the 
great  masters  in  the  literary  history  of  Great  Britain; 
he  was  devoted  to  the  practice  of  medicine,  and  con- 
tinued in  it  until  the  conclusion  of  his  long  life.  I 
subjoin  some  extracts  from  his  works,  which  cannot 
fail  to  be  read  with  pleasure: 


—  i8  ■— 

"OBLIVION. 

*•  What  song  the  Sirens  sang,  or  what  name 
Achilles  assumed  when  he  hid  himself  among  women, 
though  puzzling  questions,  are  not  beyond  all  conjec- 
ture. What  time  the  persons  of  these  ossuaries 
entered  the  famous  nations  of  the  dead  and  slept 
with  princes  and  counsellors  might  admit  a  wide  solu- 
tion. But  who  were  the  proprietaries  of  these  bones, 
or  what  bodies  these  ashes  made  up,  were  a  question 
above  antiquarianism;  not  to  be  resolved  by  man,  not 
easily  perhaps  by  spirits  except  we  consult  the  pro- 
vincial guardians  of  tutelary  observators.  Had  they 
made  as  good  provision  for  their  names  as  they  have 
done  for  their  relics,  they  had  not  so  grossly  erred  in 
the  art  of  perpetuation.  But  to  subsist  in  bones,  and 
be  put  pyramidally  extant,  is  a  fallacy  in  duration. 
Vain  ashes,  which,  in  the  oblivion  of  names,  persons, 
times,  and  sexes,  have  found  unto  themselves  a  fruit- 
less continuation,  and  only  arise  unto  late  posterity  as 
emblems  of  mortal  vanities,  antidotes  against  pride, 
vainglory,  and  maddening  vices.  Pagan  vainglories, 
which  thought  the  world  might  last  forever,  had 
encouragement  for  ambition,  and,  finding  no  Atropos 
unto  the  immortality  of  their  names,  were  never 
damped  with  the  necessity  of  oblivion.  Even  old 
ambitions  had  the  advantage  of  ours  in  the  attempts 
of  their  vainglories,  who,  acting  early  and  before  the 
probable  meridian  of  time,  have  by  this  time  found 


—  19  — 

great  accomplishment  of  their  designs,  whereby  the 
ancient  heroes  have  already  outlasted  their  monu- 
ments and  mechanical  preservations.  But  in  this  lat- 
ter scene  of  time  we  cannot,  expect  such  mummies 
unto  our  memories,  when  ambition  may  fear  the 
prophecy  of  Elias:  (i)  and  Charles  V  can  never  hope 
to  live  within  two  Methuselahs  of  Hector.  (2) 

"And  therefore  restless  inquietude  for  the  diutur- 
nity  of  our  memories  unto  present  considerations, 
seems  a  vanity  almost  out  of  date  and  superannuated 
piece  of  folly.  We  cannot  hope  to  live  so  long  in 
our  names  as  some  have  done  in  their  persons  ;  one 
face  of  Janus  holds  no  proportion  unto  the  other.  It 
is  too  late  to  be  ambitious.  The  great  mutations  of 
the  earth  are  acted  or  time  may  be  too  short  for  our 
designs.  To  extend  our  memories  by  monuments, 
whose  death  we  daily  pray  for,  and  whose  duration 
we  cannot  hope  without  injury  to  our  expectations,  in 
the  advent  of  the  last  day,  were  a  contradiction  to  our 
"beliefs.  We,  whose  generations  are  ordained  in  this 
setting  apart  of  time,  are  providentially  taken  off 
from  such  imaginations  ;  and  being  necessitated  to 
€ye  the  remaining  particle  of  futurity,  are  naturally 
constituted  unto  thoughts  of  the  next  world  and  can- 
not excusably  decline  the  consideration  of  that  dura- 
tion which  marketh  pyramid  pillars  of  snow  and  all 
that  is  past  a  moment. 

"  Circles  and  right  lines  limit  and  close  all  bodies, 
and  the  mortal  right-lined  circle   (3)   must   close   and 


— ■     20 


shut  up  all.  There  is  no  antidote  against  the  opium 
of  time,  which  temporally  considereth  all  things.  Our 
fathers  find  their  graves  in  our  short  memories,  and 
sadly  tell  us  now  we  may  be  buried  in  our  survivors. 
Gravestones  tell  truth  scarce  forty  years.  Genera- 
tions pass  while  some  trees  stand  and  old  families  last 
not  three  oaks.  To  be  read  by  bare  inscriptions  like 
many  in  Gruter,  (4)  to  hope  for  eternity  by  enigmati- 
cal epithets  or  first  letters  of  our  names,  to  be  studied 
by  antiquaries  who  we  were,  and  have  new  names 
given  us,  like  many  of  the  mummies,  are  cold  conso- 
lations to  the  students  of  perpetuity  even  by  ever- 
lasting languages. 

"  To  be  content  that  times  to  come  should  only 
know  there  was  such  a  man,  not  caring  whether  they 
knew  more  of  him,  was  a  frigid  ambition  in  Cardau; 
disparaging  his  horoscopal  inclination  and  judgment  of 
himself,  who  cares  to  subsist  like  Hippocrates'  pa- 
tients, or  Achilles'  horses  in  Homer,  under  naked 
nominations,  without  deserts  and  noble  acts,  which 
are  the  balsams  of  our  memories,  the  entelechia  and 
soul  of  our  subsistences.  To  be  nameless  in  worthy 
deeds  exceeds  an  infamous  history.  The  Canaanitish 
woman  lives  more  happily  without  a  name  than 
Herodias  with  one.  And  who  had  not  rather  been  a 
good  thief,  than  Pilate  ? 

"  But  the  iniquity  of  oblivion  blindly  scattereth  her 
poppy  and  deals  with  the  memory  of  men  without 
distinction  to  merit  or  perpetuity  ;  who   can  but   pity 


the  founders  of  the  Pyramids.  Herostratus  lives  that 
burnt  the  temple  of  Diana  ;  he  is  almost  lost  that 
built  it ;  time  has  spared  the  epitaph  of  Adrian's 
horse ;  confounded  that  of  himself.  In  vain  we 
compute  our  felicities  by  the  advantage  of  our  good 
names,  since  bad  have  equal  durations  ;  and  Ther- 
sites  is  like  to  live  as  long  as  Agamemnon  without  the 
favour  of  the  everlasting  register.  Who  knows 
whether  the  best  of  men  be  known  ;  or  whether  there 
be  not  more  remarkable  persons  forgot  than  any  that 
stand  remembered  in  the  known  accounts  of  time. 
Without  the  favour  of  the  everlasting  register,  the 
first  man  had  been  as  unknown  as  the  last,  and 
Methuselah's  long  life  had  been  his  only  chronicle. 

"Oblivion  is  not  to  be  hired:  the  greatest  part 
must  be  content  to  be  as  though  they  had  not  been; 
to  be  found  in  the  register  of  God  not  in  the  record 
of  man.  Twenty-seven  names  make  up  the  first  story 
of  the  Flood;  and  the  recorded  names  ever  since  con- 
tain not  one  living  century.  The  number  of  the  dead 
long  exceedeth  all  that  shall  live.  The  night  of  time 
far  surpasseth  the  day,  and  who  knows  when  was  the 
equinox.  Every  hour  adds  unto  that  current  arith- 
metic which  scarce  stands  one  moment.  And  since 
death  must  be  the  Lucina  of  life;  and  even  pagans 
could  doubt  whether  thus  to  live  were  to  die;  since 
our  longest  sun  sets  at  right  declension  and  makes 
but  winter  arches,  and  therefore  it  cannot  be  long 
before  we  lie  down  in  darkness  and  have  our  light  in 


ashes;  since  the  brother  of  death  daily  haunts  us  with 
dying  mementos,  and  time,  that  grows  old  in  itself, 
bids  us  hope  no  long  duration;  diuturnity  is  a  dream 
and  folly  of  expectation. 

"  Darkness  and  light  divide  the  course  of  time, 
and  oblivion  shares  with  memory  a  great  part  even  of 
our  living  beings;  we  slightly  remember  our  felicities, 
and  the  smartest  strokes  of  affliction  leave  but  short 
smart  upon  us.  Sense  endureth  no  extremities  and 
sorrows  destroy  us  or  themselves.  To  weep  into 
stones  are  fables.  Afflictions  induce  callosities; 
miseries  are  slippery,  or  fall  off  like  snow  upon  us, 
which,  notwithstanding,  is  no  unhappy  stupidity.  To 
be  ignorant  of  evils  to  come  and  forgetful  of  evils 
past,  is  a  micrciful  provision  in  nature,  whereby  we 
digest  the  mixture  of  our  few  and  evil  days;  and  our 
delivered  senses  are  not  relapsing  into  cutting  remem- 
brances, our  sorrows  are  not  kept  raw  by  the  edge  of 
repetitions.  A  great  part  of  antiquity  contented 
their  hopes  of  subsistence  with  a  transmigration  of 
their  soul — a  good  way  to  continue  their  memories, 
while,  having  the  advantage  of  plural  successions, 
they  could  not  but  act  something  remarkable  in  such 
variety  of  beings;  and,  enjoying  the  fame  of  their 
passed  selves,  make  accumulation  of  glory  unto  their 
last  duration.  Others,  rather  than  be  lost  in  the 
uncomfortable  night  of  nothing,  were  content  to 
recede  into  the  common  being,  and  make  one  particle 
of  the  public  soul  of  all  things,  which  was  no  more 


—  23  — 

than  to  return  into  their  unknown  and  divine  original 
again.  Egyptian  ingenuity  was  more  unsatisfied, 
contriving  their  bodies  into  sweet  consistencies  to 
attend  the  return  of  their  souls.  But  all  was  vanity, 
feeding  the  mind  and  folly.  The  Egyptian  mummies, 
which  Cambyses  or  time  hath  spared,  avarice  now 
consumeth.  Mummy  is  become  merchandise;  Miz- 
raim  cures  wounds,  and  Pharaoh  is  sold  for  balsams. 
*  *  *  There  is  nothing  strictly  immortal  but 
immortality.  Whatever  hath  no  beginning  may 
be  confident  of  no  end,  which  is  the  peculiar  of 
that  necessary  essence  that  cannot  destroy  itself, 
and  the  highest  strain  of  omnipotency  to  be  so 
powerfully  constituted  as  not  to  suffer  even  from 
the  power  of  itself;  all  others  have  a  dependent 
being,  and  within  the  reach  of  destruction.  But 
the  sufficiency  of  Christian  immortality  frustrates 
all  earthly  glory,  and  the  quality  of  either  state 
after  death  makes  a  folly  of  posthumous  memory. 
God,  who  can  only  destroy  our  souls  and  hath 
assured  our  resurrection,  either  of  our  bodies  or 
names,  hath  directly  promised  no  duration;  wherein 
there  is  so  much  of  chance  that  the  boldest  expect- 
ants have  found  unhappy  frustration,  and  to  hold 
long  subsistence  seems  but  a  scape  in  oblivion. 
But  man  is  a  noble  animal,  splendid  in  ashes  and 
pompous  in  the  grave,  solemnizing  nativities  and 
deaths  with  equal  lustre,  nor  omittmg  ceremonies 
of   bravery  in  the    infamy  of   his  nature.      *      *      * 


—     24   — 

Pyramids,  arches,  obelisks  were  but  the  irregularities 
of  vainglory,  and  wild  enormities  of  ancient  magnan- 
imity. But  the  most  magnanimous  resolution  rests 
in  the  Christian  religion,  which  trampleth  upon  pride 
and  sits  on  the  neck  of  ambition,  humbly  pursuing 
that  infallible  perpetuity  unto  which  all  others  must 
diminish  their  diameters  and  be  poorly  seen  in  angles 
of  contingency.  Pious  spirits,  who  passed  their  days 
in  raptures  of  futurity,  made  little  more  of  this  world 
than  the  world  that  was  before  it,  while  they  lay 
obscure  in  the  chaos  of  pre-ordination  and  night  of 
their  fore-beings.  And  if  any  have  been  so  happy  as 
truly  to  understand  Christian  annihilation,  ecstacies, 
evolution,  liquefaction,  transformation,  the  kiss  of  the 
spouse,  gustation  of  God,  and  ingression  into  the 
divine  shadow,  they  have  already  had  a  handsome 
anticipation  of  heaven;  the  glory  of  the  world  is 
surely  over  and  the  earth  in  ashes  unto  them. 

"  To  subsist  in  lasting  monuments,  to  live  in 
their  productions,  to  exist  in  their  names,  and  pre- 
dicament of  chimeras  was  large  satisfaction  unto  old 
expectations  and  made  one  part  of  their  elysiums. 
But  all  this  is  nothing  in  the  metaphysics  of  true  be- 
lief. To  live  indeed  is  to  be  again  ourselves,  which, 
being  not  only  a  hope,  but  an  evidence  in  noble  be- 
lievers, 'tis  all  one  to  lie  in  St.  Innocent's  church-yard 
as  in  the  sands  of  Egypt;  ready  to  be  anything  in  .the 
ecstasy  of  being  ever  and  as  content  with  six  foot  as 
the  moles  of  Adrianus." 


—    25    — 

"of  mmself. 

"  For  my  life  it  is  a  miracle  of  thirty  years,  which 
to  relate  were  not  a  history,  but  a  piece  of  poetry,  and 
would  sound  to  common  ears  like  a  fable.  For  the 
world,  I  count  it  not  an  inn,  but  an  hospital,  and  a 
place  not  to  live  in  but  to  die  in.  7'he  world  that  I 
regard  is  myself;  it  is  the  microcosm  of  my  own 
frame  that  I  can  cast  mine  eye  on — for  the  other,  I 
use  it  but  like  my  globe  and  turn  it  round  sometimes 
for  my  recreation.  *  *  *  The  earth  is  a  point 
not  only  in  respect  of  the  heavens  above  us,  but  of 
that  heavenly  and  celestial  part  within  us.  That 
mass  of  flesh  that  circumscribes  me,  limits  not  my 
mind.  That  surface  that  tells  the  heavens  it  hath  an 
end,  cannot  persuade  me  I  have  any.  *  *  *  Whilst 
I  study  to  find  how  I  am  a  microcosm,  or  a  little 
world,  I  find  myself  something  more  than  the  great. 
There  is  surely  a  piece  of  divinity  "in  us — something 
that  was  before  the  heavens,  and  owes  no  homage 
■unto  the  sun.  Nature  tells  me  I  am  the  image  of 
God  as  well  as  the  Scripture.  He  that  understands 
not  thus  much  hath  not  his  introduction  or  first  lesson, 
and  hath  yet  to  begin  the  alphabet  of  man." 

Dr.  Walter  Charleton  (1619-1707). — Phys- 
ician to  Charles  II,  and  for  several  terms  President 
of  the  College  of  Physicians  of  London,  and  a  friend 
of  the  greatest  wits  of  his  time,  and  writer  of  great 


—    26    — 

forcefulness  and  versatility,  was  Dr.  Walter  Charleton. 
Not  only  did  he  contribute  to  medical  literature,  but  he 
wrote  considerably  on  theology,  physics,  zoology,  and 
antiquities.  He  also  translated  Epicurus'  "  Morals." 
He  enjoyed  great  prosperity  as  a  physician,  and  was 
honored  by  the  profession  as  one  of  its  most  capable 
and  representative  members.  Chambers  says  :  "  The 
work,  however,  which  seems  to  deserve  more  particu- 
larly our  attention  in  this  place  is  'A  Brief  Discourse 
Concerning  the  Different  Wits  of  Men,'  published  by 
Dr.  Charleton  in  1675.  I^  ^s  interesting  both  on  ac- 
count of  lively  and  accurate  sketches  it  contains,  and 
because  the  author  attributes  the  variety  of  talent 
which  is  found  among  men  to  difference  of  form,  size, 
and  qualities  of  their  brains."  I  quote  two  extracts 
from  this  work. 

"the  ready  and  nimble   wit. 

"  Such  as  are  endowed  wherewith  have  a  certain 
extemporary  acuteness  of  conceit,  accompanied  with 
a  quick  delivery  of  their  thoughts,  so  as  they  can  at 
pleasure  entertain  their  auditors  with  facetious  pass- 
ages and  fluent  discourses  even  upon  slight  occasions; 
but  being  generally  impatient  of  second  thoughts  and 
deliberations,  they  seem  fitter  for  pleasant  colloquies 
and  drollery  than  for  counsel  and  design;  like  fly- 
boats,  good  only  in  fair  weather  and  shallow  waters, 
and  then,  too,  more  for  pleasure  than  traffic.  If  they 
be,    as  for    the  most  part   they   are,   narrow  in  the 


—    27    — 

hold,  and  destitute  of  ballast  sufficient  to  counter- 
poise their  large  sails,  they  reel  with  every  blast  of 
argument,  and  are  often  driven  upon  the  sands  of  a 
'nonplus;'  but  where  favoured  with  the  breath  of 
common  applause,  they  sail  smoothly  and  proudly, 
and,  like  the  city  pageants,  discharge  whole  volleys 
of  squibs  and  crackers,  and  skirmish  most  furiously. 
But  take  them  from  their  familiar  and  private  con- 
versation into  grave  and  severe  assemblies,  whence 
all  extemporary  flashes  of  wit,  all  fantastic  allusions, 
all  personal  reflections,  are  excluded,  and  there  en- 
gage them  in  an  encounter  with  solid  wisdom,  not  in 
light  skirmishes,  but  a  pitched  field  of  long  and  seri- 
ous debate  concerning  any  important  question,  and 
then  you  shall  soon  discover  their  weakness,  contemn 
that  barrenness  of  understanding  which  is  incapable 
of  struggling  with  the  difficulties  of  apodictical 
knowledge,  and  the  deduction  of  truth  from  a  long 
series  of  reasons.  Again,  if  those  very  concise  say- 
ings and  lucky  repartees,  wherein  they  are  so  happy, 
and  which  at  first  hearing  were  entertained  with  so 
much  of  pleasure  and  admiration,  be  written  down, 
and  brought  to  a  strict  examination  of  their  pertin- 
ency, coherence,  and  verity,  how  shallow,  how  frothy, 
how  forced  will  they  be  found  !  how  much  will  they 
lose  of  that  applause,  which  their  tickling  of  the  ear 
and  present  flight  through  the  imagination  had 
gained  !  In  the  greatest  part,  therefore,  of  such  men, 
you  ought  to  expect  no   deep  or  continued  river  of 


—     28       - 

wit,    but   only   a    few    plashes,    and    those,    too,   not 
altogether  free  from  mud  and  putrefaction." 

"  THE    SLOW    BUT    SURE    WIT. 

"  Some  heads  there  are  of  a  certain  close  and  re- 
served constitution,  which  makes  them  at  first  sight 
to  promise  as  little  of  the  virtue  wherein  they  are  en- 
dowed, as  the  former  appear  to  be  above  the  imper- 
fections to  which  they  are  subject.  Somewhat  slow 
they  are,  indeed,  of  both  conception  and  expression; 
yet  no  whit  the  less  provided  with  solid  prudence. 
When  they  are  engaged  to  speak,  their  tongue  doth 
not  readily  interpret  the  dictates  of  their  mind,  so 
that  their  language  comes,  as  it  were,  drop-ping  from 
their  lips,  even  where  they  are  encouraged  by 
familiar,  or  provoked  by  the  smartness  of  jests,  which 
sudden  and  nimble  wits  have  newly  darted  at  them. 
Costive  they  are  also  in  invention;  so  that  when  they 
would  deliver  somewhat  solid  and  remarkable,  they 
are  long  in  seeking  what  is  fit,  and  as  long  in  deter- 
mining in  what  manner  and  words  to  utter  it.  But 
after  a  little  consideration,  they  penetrate  deeply  into 
the  substance  of  things  and  marrow  of  business  and 
conceive  proper  and  emphatic  words  by  which  to  ex- 
press their  sentiments.  Barren  they  are  not,  but  a 
little  heavy  and  retentive.  Their  gifts  lie  deep  and 
concealed;  but  being  furnished  with  notions,  not  airy 
and  umbratil  ones  borrowed  from  the  pedantism  of 
the  schools,   but  true  and  useful — and  if  they  have 


—    29    — 

been    manured    with    good    learning,    and    the    habit 
of    exercising    their    pen— oftentimes   they    produce 
many    excellent    conceptions    to   be   transmitted    to 
posterity.     Having,  however,   an  aspect  very  like  to 
narrow  and  dull   capacities,   at   first  sight  most  men 
take  them  to  be  really  such,  and  strangers  look  upon 
them  with  the  eyes  of  neglect  and  contempt.  Hence  it 
comes,  that  excellent  parts  remaining  unknown,  often 
want  the   favour   and   patronage    of   great   persons, 
whereby  they  might  be  redeemed  from  obscurity,  and 
raised  to  employments  answerable  to  their  faculties, 
and   crowned   with    honours   proportionate   to   their 
merits.     The  best  course,  therefore,  for  these  to  over- 
come that  eclipse  which  prejudice  usually  brings  upon 
them,  is  to  contend  against  their   own  modesty,   and 
either  by  frequent  converse  with  noble  and  discerning 
spirits,  to  enlarge  the  windows  of  their  minds,  and 
dispel  those  clouds  of  reservedness  that  darken  the 
lustre  of  their  faculties;  or  by  writing  on  some  new 
and  useful  subject,  to  lay  open  their  talent,   so  that 
the  world  may  be  convinced  of  their  intrinsic  value." 

Sir  Samuel  Garth  (1670-1718).— One  of  the 
most  scholarly  gentlemen  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
and  a  physician  of  great  distinction,  was  Sir  Samuel 
Garth— the  author  of  ''  The  Dispensary,"  a  poem  em- 
bodying the  keenest  satire,  and  a  production  which  is 
replete  with  all  that  makes  poetry  ornate.  He  was 
physician-in-ordinary  to  the    king,   and    held    many 


_  30  — 

honorable  positions.  He  was  the  friend  and  crony  of 
all  the  literary  gentlemen  of  his  time.  There  was 
much  trouble  in  his  day  between  the  apothecaries 
and  the  physicians.  The  apothecaries  wished  to 
practice  medicine  as  well  as  prepare  prescriptions  (a 
thing  which  in  this  day  is  not  entirely  unknown  [!!!]), 
and  a  bitter  war  waged  for  a  long  time  between  the 
apothecaries  and  physicians.  The  most  effective 
weapon  brought  into  this  war  was  Dr.  Garth's  poem, 
^' The  Dispensary."  The  apothecaries  were  for  the 
time  defeated,  but  later  the  House  of  Commons 
decided  they  had  a  right  to  practice  medicine. 
Garth's  life  was  not  a  long  one,  and  it  was  said  he 
welcomed  death  as  a  dear  friend  who  had  brought 
the  sweet  boon  of  rest.  He  lived  in  an  age  noted  for 
its  dissoluteness,  and  it  is  said  he  was  not  free  from 
the  vices  and   follies   then  prevalent  in  fashionable 

life. 

I  quote  an  extract  from  "  The  Dispensary," 
which  will  give  the  reader  an  idea  of  the  style  of  his 
versification  and  beauty  of  his  thoughts  and  the  keen- 
ness of  his  satire.  I  give  also  another  quotation  from 
him,  ''On  Death." 

EXTRACT    FROM    ''THE    DISPENSARY." 

Speak,  goddess!  since  'tis  thou  that  best  canst  tell 
How  ancient  leagues  to  modern  discord  fell;   ' 
And  why  physicians  were  so  cautious  grown 
Of  others'  lives,  and  lavish  of  their  own; 
How  by  a  journey  to  the  Elysian  plain 


—  31  — 

Peace  triumphed,  and  old  time  returned  again. 

Not  far  from  that  most  celebrated  place 
Where  angry  Justice  shews  her  awful  face; 
Where  little  villains  must  submit  to  fate 
That  great  ones  may  enjoy  the  world  in  state; 
There  stands  a  dome,  majestic  to  the  sight, 
And  sumptuous  arches  bear  its  oval  height; 
A  golden  globe,  placed  high  with  artful  skill. 
Seems,  to  the  distant  sight,  a  gilded  pill; 
This  pile  was,  by  the  pious  patron's  aim, 
Raised  for  a  use  as  noble  as  its  frame; 
Not  did  the  learned  society  decline 
The  propagation  of  that  great  design; 
In  all  her  mazes.  Nature's  face  they  viewed. 
And,  as  she  disappeared,  their  search  pursued. 
Wrapt  in  the  shade  of  night  the  goddess  lies. 
Yet  to  the  learned  unveils  her  dark  disguise, 
But  shuns  the  gross  access  of  vulgar  eyes. 

Now  she  unfolds  the  faint  and  dawning  strife 
Of  infant  atoms  kindling  into  life; 
How  ductile  matter  new  meanders  takes. 
And  slender  trains  of  twisting  fibres  makes; 
And  how  the  viscous  seeks  a  closer  tone. 
By  .just  degrees  to  harden  into  bone; 
While  the  more  loose  flow  from  the  vital  urn, 
And  in  full  tides  of  purple  streams  return; 
How  lambent  flames  from  life's  bright  lamps  arise, 
And  dart  in  emanations  through  the  eyes; 
How  from  each  sluice  a  gentle  torrent  pours 
To  slake  a  feverish  heat  with  ambient  showers; 
Whence  their  mechanic  powers  the  spirits  claim; 
How  great  their  force,  how  delicate  their  frame; 
How  the  same  nerves  are  fashioned  to  sustain 
The  greatest  pleasure  and  the  greatest  pain;  ' 


—  32  — 

Why  bilious  juice  a  golden  light  puts  on, 
And  floods  of  chyle  in  silver  currents  run; 
How  the  dim  speck  of  entity  began 
To  extend  its  recent  form  and  stretch  to  man; — 
Why  Envy  oft  transforms  with  wan  disguise, 
And  why  gay  Mirth  sits  smiling  in  the  eyes; — 
Whence  Milo's  vigour  at  the  Olympics  shewn, 
Whence  tropes  to  Finch,  or  impudence  to  Sloane; 
How  matter,  by  the  varied  shape  of  pores, 
Or  idiots  frames,  or  solemn  senators. 

Hence  'tis  we  wait  the  wondrous  cause  to  find, 
How  body  acts  upon  impassive  mind; 
How  fumes  of  wine  the  thinking  part  can  fire, 
Past  hopes  revive,  and  present  joys  inspire; 
Why  our  complexions  oft  our  souls  declare, 
And  how  the  passions  in  the  features  are; 
How  touch  and  harmony  arise  between 
Corporeal  figure  and  a  form  unseen; 
How  quick  their  faculties  the  limbs  fulfil, 
And  act  at  every  summons  of  the  will; 
With  mighty  truths,  mysterious  to  descry, 
Which  in  the  womb  of  distant  causes  lie. 

But  now  no  grand  inquiries  are  descried; 
Mean  faction  reigns  where  knowledge  should  preside; 
Feuds  are  increased,  and  learning  laid  aside; 
Thus  synods  oft  concern  for  faith  conceal. 
And  for  important  nothings  shew  a  zeal: 
The  drooping  sciences  neglected  pine, 
And  Paean's  beams  with  fading  lustre  shine. 
No  readers  here  with  hectic  looks  are  found, 
Nor  eyes  in  rheum,  through  midnight  watching  drowned. 
The  lonely  edifice  in  sweats  complains 
That  nothing  there  but  sullen  silence  reigns. 

This  place,  so  fit  for  undisturbed  repose. 


—  33  — 

The  god  of  Sloth  for  his  asylum  chose; 
Upon  a  couch  of  down  in  these  abodes, 
Supine  with  folded  arms,  he  thoughtless  nods; 
Indulging  dreams  his  godhead  lull  to  ease. 
With  murmurs  of  soft  rills,  and  whispering  trees: 
The  poppy  and  each  numbing  plant  dispense 
Their  drowsy  virtue  and  dull  indolence; 
No  passions  interrupt  his  easy  reign. 
No  problems  puzzle  his  lethargic  brain; 
But  dark  oblivion  guards  his  peaceful  bed. 
And  lazy  fogs  hang  lingering  o'er  his  head. 

ON    DEATH. 

'Tis  to  the  vulgar  death  too  harsh  appears; 

The  ill  we  feel  is  only  in  our  fears. 

To  die,  is  landing  on  some  silent  shore. 

Where  billows  never  break,  nor  tempests  roar; 

Ere  well  we  feel  the  friendly  stroke,  'tis  o'er. 

The  wise  through  thought  the  insults  of  death  defy; 

The  fools  through  blessed  insensibility. 

'Tis  what  the  guilty  fear,  the  pious  crave; 

Sought  by  the  wretch  and  vanquished  by  the  brave. 

It  eases  lovers,  sets  the  captive  free; 

And,  though  a  tyrant,  offers  liberty. 

Sir  Richard  Blackmore  (1658-1729). — Dr. 
Blackmore  is  not  only  a  specimen  of  the  literary  man 
and  physician,  but  an  example  of  how  one  who  possesses 
merit  may,  if  he  has  not  the  friendship  of  those  in 
power,  be  considered  inferior.  Those  who  hon- 
estly look  into  the  matter  must  acknowledge  that 
Dr.  Blackmore  was  a  true  poet.  Of  course  now  his 
works  are  little  read,  and  the  subjects  upon  which  he 

3   GGG 


—  34  — 
wrote  now  claim  but  little  attention,  yet  one  has  only 
to  look  for  the  fire  of  poetry  to  find  it  in  his  produc- 
tions. , 

He  enjoyed  greater  popularity  than  any  other 
physician  of  his  particular  day,  and  was  knighted  by 
William  III.,  and  made  a  censor  of  the  College  of 
Physicians.  In  1695  there  appeared  under  his  name 
an  epic  entitled  "  Prince  Arthur,"  which  he  wrote 
while  riding  in  his  carriage,  going  from  the  house  of 
one  patient  to  another.  He  was  eminent  for  his  piety, 
and  is  described  by  those  of  his  contemporaries  that 
did  not  hate  him  as  in  every  respect  a  most  lovable 
man.  Dr.  Johnson  includes  him  in  his  edition  of  the 
British  Poets. 

I  quote  an  extract  from  *'  Creation,"  one  of  his 
chief  works,  which  will  give  the  reader  some  idea  of 
his  poetry: 

THE  SCHEME  OF  CREATION. 

You  ask  us  why  the  soil  the  thistle  breeds; 
Why  its  spontaneous  birth  are  thorns  and  weeds; 
Why  for  the  harvest  it  the  harrow  needs? 

The  Author  might  a  nobler  world  have  made, 
In  brighter  dress  the  hills  and  vales  arrayed, 
And  all  its  face  in  flowery  scenes  displayed: 
The  glebe  untilled  might  plenteous  crops  have  borne, 
And  brought  forth  spicy  groves  instead  of  thorn: 
Rich  fruit  and  flowers  without  the  gardener's  pains 
Might  every  hill  have  crowned,   have  honoured  all  the 

plains: 
This  Nature  might  have  boasted,  had  the  Mind 


—  35  — 

Who  formed  the  spacious  universe  designed 

That  man,  from  labour  free,  as  well  as  grief, 

Should  pass  in  lazy  luxury  his  life. 

But  He  his  creature  gave  a  fertile  soil. 

Fertile,  but  not  without  the  owner's  toil, 

That  some  reward  his  industry  should  crown, 

And  that  his  food  in  part  might  be  his  own. 

But  while  insulting  you  arraign  the  land. 

Ask  why  it  wants  the  plough,  or  labourer's  hand, 

Kind  to  the  marble  rocks  you  ne'er  complain 

That  they,  without  the  sculptor's  skill  and  pain, 

No  perfect  statue  yield,  no  basse  relieve. 

Or  finished  column  for  the  palace  give. 

Yet  from  the  hills  unlaboured  figures  came, 

Man  might  have  ease  enjoyed,  though  never  fame. 

You  may  the  world  of  more  defect  upbraid. 

That  other  works  by  Nature  are  unmade: 

That  she  did  never,  at  her  own  expense, 

A  palace  rear,  and  in  magnificence 

Out-rival  art,  to  grace  the  stately  rooms; 

That  she  no  castle  builds,  no  lofty  domes. 

Had  Nature's  hand  these  various  works  prepared, 

What  thoughtful  care,  what  labour  had  been  spared  I 

But  then  no  realm  would  one  great  master  shew. 

No  Phidias  Greece,  and  Rcme  no  Angelo. 

With  equal  reason,  too,  you  might  demand 

Why  boats  and  ships  require  the  artist's  hand; 

Why  generous  Nature  did  not  these  provide, 

To  pass  the  standing  lake  or  flowing  tide. 

You  say  the  hills,  which  high  in  air  arise, 

Harbour  in  clouds,  and  mingle  with  the  skies, 

That  earth's  dishonour  and  encumbering  load. 

Of  many  spacious  regions  man  defraud; 

For  beasts  and  birds  of  prey  a  desolate  abode. 


-  36  - 

But  can  the  objector  no  convenience  find 

In  mountains,  hills,  and  rocks,  which  gird  and  bind 

The  mighty  frame,  that  else  would  be  disjoined  ! 

Do  not  those  heaps  the  raging  tide  restrain, 

And  for  the  dome  afford  the  marble  vein  ? 

Do  not  the  rivers  from  the  mountains  flow, 

And  bring  down  riches  to  the  vale  below  ? 

See  how  the  torrent  rolls  the  golden  sand 

From  the  mighty  ridges  to  the  flatter  land  ! 

The  lofty  lines  abound  with  endless  store 

Of  mineral  treasure  and  metallic  ore. 

Dr.  John  Arbuthnot  (1667-17 35)  was  declared 
by  Swift,  and  his  contemporaries  generally,  to  have 
been  the  most  intellectual  and  humane  man  in  the 
world.  He  was  the  intimate  friend  of  Pope,  Gay, 
Prior,  Swift,  and  engaged  with  them  in  several  liter- 
ary enterprises.  He  was  the  chief  contributor  to 
Martinus  Scriblerus,  and  the  author  of  "The  His- 
tory of  John  Bull."  He  displayed  his  talents  in 
other  works,  and  was  truly  a  poet.  His  "  Know 
Yourself  "  is  esteemed  by  the  best  judges  to  be  the 
most  philosophical  poem  in  the  English  language. 
He  was  a  member  of  the  Royal  Society,  fellow  of  the 
Royal  College  of  Surgeons,  and  physician  to  Queen 
Anne.  He  attained  the  greatest  eminence  in  his  pro- 
fession, and  was  the  greatest  example  of  his  times  of 
a  union  of  the  literary  man  and  physician.  His  med- 
ical productions  exhibit  the  greatest  profundity  of 
research  and  observation.  Shaw  says:  "  He  seems  to 
have   fully  deserved  the    admiration    lavished    upon 


—  37  — 

him  by  all  his  friends,  as  an  accomplished  scholar,  an 
able  and  benevolent  physician,  and  a  wit  of  singular 
brilliancy  and  fertility."  The  object  of  Martinus 
Scriblerus  was  to  ridicule  the  false  tastes  then  preva- 
lent. It  is  thought  by  many  that  object  lessons  were 
first  suggested  by  this  passage  in  Scriblerus:  "  The 
old  gentleman  so  contrived  it,  to  make  everything 
contribute  to  the  improvement  of  his  knowledge, 
even  to  his  very  dress.  He  invented  him  a  geograph- 
ical suit  of  clothes,  which  might  give  him  hints  of 
that  science  and  likewise  some  knowledge  of  the  com- 
merce of  different  nations.  He  had  a  French  hat 
with  an  African  feather,  Holland  shirts  and  Flanders 
lace,  English  cloth  lined  with  Indian  silk;  his  gloves 
were  Italian,  and  his  shoes  were  Spanish.  He  was 
made  to  observe  this,  and  daily  catechised  thereupon, 
which  his  father  was  wont  to  call  traveling  at  home." 
He  never  gave  him  a  fig  or  an  orange  but  he  obliged 
him  to  give  an  account  from  what  country  it  came. 
Presenting  my  readers  with  Dr.  Arbuthnot's  poem, 
^' Know  Yourself,"  will  make  it  impossible  to  give 
more  than  a  short  specimen  of  his  prose  composition. 

"  USEFULNESS    OF    MATHEMATICAL    LEARNING. 

"  The  advantages  which  accrue  to  the  mind  by 
mathematical  studies  consist  chiefly  in  these  things: 
I  St,  In  accustoming  it  to  attention;  2nd,  in  giving  it  a 
habit  of  close  and  demonstrative  reasoning;  3rd,  in 
freeing  it  from  prejudice,  credulity,  and  superstition. 


-38- 

"  First,  the  mathematics  make  the  mind  attentive 
to  the  objects  which  it  considers.  This  they  do  by 
entertaining  it  with  a  great  variety  of  truths,  which 
are  delightful  and  evident,  but  not  obvious.  Truth  is 
the  same  thing  to  the  understanding  as  music  to  the 
ear  and  beauty  to  the  eye.  The  pursuit  of  it  does 
really  as  much  gratify  a  natural  faculty  implanted  in 
us  by  our  wise  Creator  as  the  pleasing  of  our  senses; 
only  in  the  former  case,  as  the  object  and  faculty  are 
more  spiritual,  the  delight  is  the  more  pure  and  free 
from  the  regret,  turpitude,  lassitude,  and  intemper- 
ance that  commonly  attend  sensual  pleasures.  The 
most  part  of  other  sciences  consisting  only  of  proba- 
ble reasonings,  the  mind  has  not  where  to  fix,  and, 
wanting  sufficient  principles  to  pursue  his  researches 
upon,  gives  them  over  as  impossible.  Again,  as  in 
mathematical  investigations  truth  may  be  found,  so  it 
is  not  always  obvious.  This  spurs  the  mind,  and 
makes  it  diligent  and  attentive. 

"  The  second  advantage  which  the  mind  reaps 
from  mathematical  knowledge  is  a  habit  of  clear,  de- 
monstrative, and  methodical  reasoning.  We  are  con- 
trived by  nature  to  learn  by  imitation  more  than  by 
precept;  and  I  believe  in  that  respect  reasoning  is 
much  like  other  inferior  arts — as  dancing,  singing, 
etc. — acquired  by  practice.  By  accustoming  ourselves 
to  reason  closely  about  quantity,  we  acquire  a  habit 
of  doing  so  in  other  things.  Logical  precepts  are 
more  useful,  nay,  they  are  absolutely  necessary,  for  a 


—  39  — 

rule  of  formal  arguing  in  public  disputations,  and 
confounding  an  obstinate  and  perverse  adversary  and 
exposing  him  to  the  audience  or  readers.  But,  in  the 
search  of  truth,  an  imitation  of  the  method  of  the 
geometers  will  carry  a  man  further  than  all  the  dia- 
lectical rules.  Their  analysis  is  the  proper  model  we 
ought  to  form  ourselves  upon,  and  imitate  in  the  reg- 
ular disposition  and  progress  of  our  inquiries;  and 
even  he  who  is  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  mathemati- 
cal analysis  uses  a  method  somewhat  analogous  to  it. 
"  Thirdly,  mathematical  analysis  adds  vigour  to 
the  mind,  frees  it  from  prejudice,  credulity,  and  super- 
stition. This  it  does  in  two  ways:  ist.  By  accustom- 
ing us  to  examine,  and  not  to  take  things  upon  trust; 
2nd,  by  giving  us  a  clear  and  extensive  knowledge  of 
the  system  of  the  world,  which,  as  it  creates  in  us  the 
most  profound  reverence  of  the  almighty  and  wise 
Creator,  so  it  frees  us  from  the  mean  and  narrow 
thoughts  which  ignorance  and  superstition  are  apt  to 
beget.  *  *  *  The  mathematics  are  friends  to 
religion,  inasmuch  as  they  charm  the  passions,  restrain 
the  impetuosity  of  the  imagination,  and  purge  the 
mind  from  error 'and  prejudice.  Vice  is  error,  con- 
fusion, and  false  reasoning;  all  truth  is  more  or  less 
opposed  to  it.  Besides,  mathematical  studies  may 
serve  for  a  pleasant  entertainment  for  those  hours 
which  young  men  are  apt  to  throw  away  upon  their 
vices;  the  delightfulness  of  them  being  such  as  to 
make  solitude  not  only  easy,  but  desirable." 


—  40  — 

KNOW    YOURSELF. 

What  am  I  ?  how  produced  ?  and  for  what  end  ? 

Whence  drew  I  being?  to  what  period  tend? 

Am  I  the  abandon'd  orphan  of  blind  chance? 

Dropt  by  wild  atoms  in  disorder'd  dance? 

Or  from  an  endless  chain  of  causes  wrought? 

And  of  unthinking  substance  born  with  thought : 

By  motion  which  began  without  a  cause, 

Supremely  wise,  without  design  or  laws  ? 

Am  I  but  what  I  seem,  mere  flesh  and  blood  ; 

A  branching  channel,  with  a  mazy  flood? 

The  purple  stream  that  through  my  vessels  glides. 

Dull  and  unconscious  flows  like  common  tides  : 

The  pipes  through  which  the  circling  juices  stray. 

Are  not  that  thinking  I,  no  more  than  they  : 

This  frame  compacted  with  transcendent  skill, 

Of  moving  joints  obedient  to  my  will. 

Nursed  from  the  fruitful  glebe,  like  yonder  tree. 

Waxes  and  wastes  ;  I  call  it  mine,  not  me  : 

New  matter  still  the  mouldering  mass  sustains, 

The  mansion  changed,  the  tenant  still  remains  : 

And  from  the  fleeting  stream,  repair'd  by  food. 

Distinct,  as  is  the  swimmer  from  the  flood. 

What  am  I  then?     Sure,  of  a  nobler  birth. 

By  parents'  right  I  own,  as  mother,  earth  ; 

But  claim  superior  lineage  by  my  Sire, 

Who  warm'd  th'  unthinking  clod  with  heavenly  fire 

Essence  divine,  with  lifeless  clay  allay'd, 

By  double  nature,  double  instinct  sway'd  ; 

With  look  erect,  I  dart  *my  longing  eye, 

Seem  wing'd  to  part,  and  gain  my  native  sky  ; 

I  strive  to  mount,  but  strive,  alas  !  in  vain, 

Tied  to  this  massy  globe  with  magic  chain. 

Now  with  swift  thought  I  range  from  pole  to  pole. 


_  41   — 

View  worlds  around  their  flaming  centers  roll  : 
What  steady  powers  their  endless  motions  guide, 
Through  the  same  trackless  paths  of  boundless  void! 
I  trace  the  blazing  comet's  fiery  trail, 
And  weigh  the  whirling  planets  in  a  scale  : 
These  godlike  thoughts,  while  eager  I  pursue 

Some  glittering  trifle  offered  to  my  view, 

A  gnat,  an  insect  of  the  meanest  kind. 

Erase  the  new-born  image  from  my  mind; 

Some  beastly  wants,  craving  importunate, 

Vile  as  the  grinning  mastiff  at  my  gate. 

Calls  off  from  heavenly  truth  this  reasoning  me, 

And  tells  me,  I'm  a  brute  as  much  as  he. 

If  on  sublimer  wings  of  love  and  praise, 

My  soul  above  the  starry  vault  I  raise. 

Lured  by  some  vain  conceit,  or  shameful  lust, 

I  flag,  I  drop,  and  flutter  in  the  dust. 

The  towering  lark  thus  from  her  lofty  strain 

Stoops  to  an  emmet,  or  a  barley  grain. 

By  adverse  gusts  of  jarring  instincts  tost, 

I  rove  to  one,  now  to  the  other  coast  ; 

To  bliss  unknown  my  lofty  soul  aspires, 

My  lot  unequal  to  my  vast  desires. 

As  'mongst  the  hinds  a  child  of  royal  birth 

Finds  his  high  pedigree  by  conscious  worth  ; 

So  man,  amongst  his  fellow  brutes  exposed. 
Sees  he's  a  king,  but  'tis  a  kind  deposed  : 
Pity  him,  beasts!  you  by  no  law  confined. 
Are  barr'd  from  devious  paths  by  being  blind  ; 
Whilst  man,  though  opening  views  of  various  ways. 
Confounded  by  the  aid  of  knowledge  strays  ; 
Too  weak  to  choose,  yet  choosing  still  in  haste. 
One  moment  gives  the  pleasure  and  distaste  ; 
Bilk'd  by  past  minutes,  while  the  present  cloy, 


—  42   — 

The  flattering  future  still  must  give  the  joy. 

Not  happy,  but  amused  upon  the  road, 

And  (like  you)  thoughtless  of  his  last  abode, 

Whether  next  sun  his  being  shall  restrain 

To  endless  nothing,  happiness,  or  pain. 

Around  me,  lo,  the  thinking,  thoughtless  crew, 

(Bewildered  each)  their  different  paths  pursue  ; 

Of  them  I  ask  the  way  ;  the  first  replies. 

Thou  art  a  god  ;  and  sends  me  to  the  skies. 

Down  on  the  turf  (the  next)  thou  two-legg'd  beast, 

There  fix  thy  lot,  thy  bliss,  and  endless  rest. 

Between  these  wide  extremes  the  length  is  such, 

I  find  I  know  too  little  or  too  much. 

"Almighty  Power,  by  whose  most  wise  command. 

Helpless,  forlorn,  uncertain  here  I  stand; 

Take  this  faint  glimmering  of  thyself  away, 

Or  break  into  my  soul  with  perfect  day  !" 

This  said,  expanded  lay  the  sacred  text. 

The  balm,  the  light,  the  guide  of  souls  perplex'd: 

Thus  the  benighted  traveller  that  strays 

Through  doubtful  paths,  enjoys  the  morning  rays; 

The  nightly  mist,  and  thick  descending  dew, 

Parting,  unfold  the  fields,  and  vaulted  blue. 

"O  Truth  divine  !  enlighten'd  by  thy  ray, 

I  grope  and  guess  no  more,  but  see  my  way; 

Thou  clear'dst  the  secret  of  my  high  descent. 

And  told  me  what  those  mystic  tokens  meant; 

Marks  of  my  birth,  which  I  had  worn  in  vain. 

Too  hard  for  worldly  sages  to  explain. 

Zeno's  were  vain,  vain  Epicurus'  schemes, 

Their  systems  false,  delusive  were  their  dreams; 

Unskill'd  my  two-fold  nature  to  divide, 

One  nursed  my  pleasure,  and  one  nursed  my  pride. 

Those  jarring  truths  which  human  art  beguile, 

Thy  sacred  page  thus  bids  me  reconcile." 


—  43  — 

Offspring  of  God,  no  less  thy  pedigree, 

What  thou  once  wert,  art  now,  and  still  may  be, 

Thy  God  alone  can  tell,  alone  decree; 

Faultless  thou  dropt  from  His  unerring  skill, 

With  the  bare  power  to  sin,  since  free  of  will: 

Yet  charge  not  with  thy  guilt  His  bounteous  love, 

For  who  has  power  to  walk,  has  power  to  rove: 

Who  acts  by  force  impell'd,  can  naught  deserve; 

And  wisdom  short  of  infinite  may  swerve. 

Borne  on  thy  nevv-imp'd  wings,  thou  took'st  thy  flight. 

Left  thy  Creator,  and  the  realms  of  light; 

Disdain'd  his  gentle  precept  to  fulfil; 

And  thought  to  grow  a  god  by  doing  ill: 

Though  by  foul  guilt  thy  heavenly  form  defaced, 

In  nature  chang'd,  from  happy  mansions  chased, 

Thou  still  retain'st  some  sparks  of   heavenly  fire. 

Too  faint  to  mount,  yet  restless  to  aspire; 

Angel  enough  to  seek  thy  bliss  again, 

And  brute  enough  to  make  thy  search  in  vain.  , 

The  creatures  now  withdraw  their  kindly  use, 

Some  fly  thee,  some  torment,  and  some  seduce; 

Repast  ill  suited  to  such  diflPerent  guests. 

For  what  thy  sense  desires,  thy  soul  distastes; 

Thy  lust,  thy  curiosity,  thy  pride, 

Curb'd,  or  deferr'd.  or  balk'd,  or  gratified, 

Rage  on,  and  make  thee  equally  unbless'd, 

In  what  thou  vvant'st,  and  what  thou  hast  possess'd 

In  vain  thou  hopest  for  bliss  on  this  poor  clod. 

Return,  and  seek  thy  Father,  and  thy  God: 

Yet  think  not  to  regain  thy  native  sky. 

Borne  on  wings  of  vain  philosophy; 

Mysterious  passage  !  hid  from  human  eyes; 

Soaring  you'll  sink,  and  sinking  you  will  rise: 

Let  humble  thoughts  thy  wary  footsteps  guide, 

Regain  by  meekness  what  you  lost  by  pride. 


—  44  — 
Mark  Akenside  (17 21-17 70). — One  of  the  most 
amiable  and  most  moral  poets  of  the  i8th  century- 
was  Mark  Akenside.  He  was  born  of  humble  par- 
entage, his  father  being  a  butcher.  In  early  life  he 
received  an  injury  which  rendered  him  a  cripple  for 
life.  He  received  his  medical  education  at  Leyden, 
taking  the  degree  of  M.D.  there  in  1774.  His 
"  Pleasures  of  Imagination  "  is  one  of  the  most  ornate 
productions  in  our  language.  His  many  poems  are 
of  high  order,  and  have  had  great  admirers  from  their 
first  appearance  to  the  present  moment.  He  prac- 
ticed medicine  with  varying  success,  and  was  a  medi- 
cal writer  also  of  celebrity,  having  contributed  to  the 
current  medical  literature  of  his  time.  The  life  of 
Akenside  was  one  which  will  be  read  with  great  inter- 
est by  ^1  lovers  of  poetry. 

PATRIOTISM. 

Mind,  mind  alone — bear  witness,  earth  and  heaven! — 

The  living  fountains  in  itself  contains 

Of  beauteous  and  sublime;  here  hand  in  hand 

Sit  paramount  the  Graces;  here  enthroned, 

Celestial  Venus,  with  divinest  airs, 

Invites  the  soul  to  never-fading  joy. 

Look,  then,  abroad  through  nature,  to  the  range 

Of  planets,  suns,  and  adamantine  spheres. 

Wheeling  unshaken  through  the  void  immense; 

And  speak,  O  man!  does  this  capacious  scene 

With  half  that  kindling  majesty  dilate 

Thy  strong  conception,  as  when  Brutus  rose 

Refulgent  from  the  stroke  of  Caesar's  fate, 


—  45   — 
Amid  the  crowd  of  patriots;  and  his  arm 
Aloft  extending,  like  eternal  Jove 
When  guilt  brings  down  the  thunder,  called  aloud 
On  Tully's  name,  and  shook  his  crimson  steel. 
And  bid  the  father  of  his  country,  hail! 
For  lo!  the  tyrant  prostrate  on  the  dust, 
And  Rome  again  is  free!     Is  aught  so  fair 
In  all  the  dewy  landscapes  of  the  spring, 
In  the  bright  eyes  of  Hesper,  or  the  morn, 
And  Nature's  fairest  forms,  is  aught  so  fair 
As  virtue's  friendship?     As  the  candid  blush 
Of  him  who  strives  with  fortune  to  be  just  ? 
The  graceful  tear  that  streams  for  others'  woes. 
Or  the  mild  majesty  of  private  life. 
Where  Peace,  with  ever-blooming  olive,  crowns 
The  gate;  where  Honour's  liberal  hands  effuse 
Unenvied  treasures,  and  the  snowy  wings 
Of  Innocence  and  Love  protect  the  scene. 

INSCRIPTION    FOR    A    MONUxMENT    TO    SHAKESPEARE. 

O  youth  and  virgins:  O  declining  eld. 
O  pale  misfortune's  slaves:  O  ye  who  dwell 
Unknown  with  humble  quiet:  ye  who  wait 
In  courts,  or  fill  the  golden  seat  of  kings: 
O  sons  of  sport  and  pleasure:  O  thou  wretch 
That  weep'st  for  jealous  love,  or  the  sore  wounds 
Of  conscious  guilt,  or  death's  rapacious  hand. 
Which  left  thee  void  of  hope:  O  ye  who  roam 
In  exile,  ye  who  through  the  embattled  field 
Seek  bright  renown,  or  who  for  noblier  palms 
Contend,  the  leaders  of  a  public  cause. 
Approach:  behold  this  marble.     Know  ye  not 
The  features  ?     Hath  not  oft  his  faithful  tongue 
Told  you  the  fashion  of  your  own  estate, 


-  46  - 

The  secrets  of  your  bosom?     Here  then  round 
His  monument  with  reverence  while  ye  stand, 
Say  to  each  other:     'This  was  Shakespeare's  form; 
Who  walked  in  every  path  of  human  life, 
Felt  every  passion;  and  to  all  mankind 
Doth  now,  will  ever  that  experience  yield 
Which  his  own  genius  only  could  acquire.' 

INSCRIPTION    FOR    A    STATUE    OF    CHAUCER    AT 
WOODSTOCK. 

Such  was  old  Chaucer:  such  the  placid  mien 
Of  him  who  first  with  harmony  informed 
The  language  of  our  fathers.     Here  he  dwelt 
For  many  a  cheerful  day.     These  ancient  walls 
Have  often  heard  him,  while  his  legends  blithe 
"He  sang;  of  love  or  knighthood,  or  the  wiles 
Of  homely  life;  through  each  estate  and  age, 
The  fashions  and  follies  of  the  world 
With  cunning  hand  portraying.     Though  perchance 
From  Blenheim's  towers,  O  stranger,  thou  art  come 
Glowing  with  Churchill's  trophies;  yet  in  vain 
Dost  thou  applaud  them,  if  thy  breast  be  cold 
To  him,  this  other  hero;  who  in  times 
Dark  and  untaught,  began  with  charming  verse 
To  tame  the  rudeness  of  his  native  land. 


Tobias  George  Smollett  (1721-1771). — The  im- 
mortal author  of  "  Roderick  Random  "  and  "  Peregrine 
Pickle,"  and  busy  litterateur,  Dr.  Smollett,  was  one  of 
the  most  indefatigable  workers  in  the  whole  realm  of 
English  literary  men.  He  translated  "  Don  Quixote," 
^'  Gil  Bias,"  and  other  works  into   English.      He  en- 


—  47  — 
countered  many  adventures  in  his  life,  having  to  strive 
against  poverty  and  an  imperious  temper.  He  prac- 
ticed medicine  with  indifferent  success,  yet  it  afforded 
him ''a  staff,"  and  it  is  to  be  believed  he  loved  the 
medical  profession  and  that  his  studies  had  done 
much  to  enlarge  his  scope  of  observation  and  to  store 
his  mind  with  useful  knowledge.  I  shall  make  no 
quotation  from  his  prose  productions,  but  refer  my 
readers  to  "  Roderick  Random,"  which  has  for  a  cen- 
tury been  recognized  as  one  of  the  greatest  English 
novels.     I  quote  below  some  of  his  verses: 

ODE  TO  INDEPENDENCE. 

Strophe. 

Thy  spirit,  Independence,  let  me  share, 

Lord  of  the  lion-heart  and  eagle-eye; 
Thy  steps  I  follow,  with  my  bosom  bare, 

Nor  heed  the  storm  that  howls  along  the  sky  ! 
Deep  in  the  frozen  regions  of  the  north, 
A  goddess  violated  brought  thee  forth. 
Immortal  Liberty,  whose  look  sublime 
Hath  bleached  the  tyrant's  cheek  in  every  varying  clime, 
What  time  the  iron-hearted  Gaul, 

With  frantic  superstition  for  his  guide, 
Armed  with  the  dagger  and  the  pall, 

The  sons  of  Woden  to  the  field  defied: 
The  ruthless  hag,  by  Weser's  flood. 

In  Heaven's  name  urged  the  infernal  blow; 

And  red  the  stream  began  to  flow: 
The  vanquished  were  baptised  with  blood  ! 


-  48  - 
Antistrophe. 

The  Saxon  Prince  in  horror  fled 

From  altars  stained  with  human  gore, 
And  Liberty  his  routed  legions  led 

In  safety  to  the  bleak  Norwegian  shore. 
There  in  a  cave  asleep  she  lay, 

Lulled  by  the  hoarse-resounding  main, 
When  a  bold  savage  passed  that  way. 

Impelled  by  destiny,  his  name  Disdain. 
Of  ample  front  the  portly  chief  appeared: 

The  hunted  bear  supplied  a  shaggy  vest; 
The  drifted  snow  hung  on  his  yellow  beard, 

And  his  broad  shoulders  braved  the  furious  blast. 
He  stopt;  he  gazed;  his  bosom  glowed. 

And  deeply  felt  the  impression  of  her  charms: 
He  seized  the  advantage  Fate  allowed, 

And  straight  compressed  her  in  his  vigorous  arms. 

Strophe. 

The  curlew  screamed,  the  tritons  blew 

Their  shells  to  celebrate  the  ravished  rite; 
Old  Time  exulted  as  he  flew; 

And  Independence  saw  the  light. 
The  light  he  saw  'in  Albion's  happy  plains. 

Where  under  cover  of  a  flowering  thorn, 
While  Philomel  renewed  her  warbled  strains. 

The  auspicious  fruit  of  stolen  embrace  was  born. 
The  mountain  Dryads  seized  with  joy 

The  smiling  infant  to  their  charge  consigned; 
The  Doric  muse  caressed  the  favourite  boy; 

The  hermit  Wisdom  stored  his  opening  mind. 


—  49  — 
As  rollinj^  years  matured  his  aj<e, 

He  flourished  bold  and  sinewy  as  his  sire; 
While  the  mild  passions  in  his  breast  assuage 

The  fiercer  flames  of  his  maternal  fire. 

Antistrophe. 

Accomplished  thus,  he  winged  his  way, 

And  zealous  roamed  from  pfjle  to  pole, 
The  rolls  of  right  eternal  to  display, 

And  warm  with  patriot  thought  the  aspiring  soul. 
On  desert  isles  'twas  he  that  raised 

Those  spires  that  gild  the  Adriatic  wave, 
Where  tyranny  beheld  amazed 

Fair  Freedom's  temple,  where  he  marked  her  grave. 
He  steeled  the  blunt  Hatavian's  arms 

To  burst  the  Iberian's  double  chain; 
And  cities  reared,  and  planted  farms. 

Won  from  the  skirts  of  Neptune's  wide  domain. 
He  with  the  generous  rustics  sate 

On  Uri's  rocks  in  close  divan; 
And  winged  that  arrow  sure  as  fate. 

Which  ascertained  the  sacred  rights  of  man. 

Strophe. 

Arabia's  scorching  sands  he  crossed, 

Where  blasted  nature  pants  supine. 
Conductor  of  her  tribes  adust 

To  freedom's  adamantine  shrine  ; 
And  many  a  Tartar  horde  forlorn,  aghast! 

He  snatched  from  under  fell  Oppression's  wing, 
And  taught  amidst  the  dreary  waste 

The  all-cheering  hymns  of  liberty  to  sing. 
He  virtue  finds,  like  precious  ore. 

Diffused  through  every  baser  mould; 

4   GGG 


_  50  — 

Even  now  he  stands  on  Calvi's  rocky  shore, 
And  turns  the  dross  of  Corsica  to  gold  : 

He,  guardian  genius,  taught  my  youth 
Pomp's  tinsel  livery  to  despise; 

My  lips,  by  him  chastised  to  truth. 
Ne'er  paid  that  homage  which  my  heart  denies. 

Anti strophe. 

Those  sculptured  halls  my  feet  shall  never  tread, 

Where  varnished  vice  and  vanity  combined 
To  dazzle  and  seduce,  with  banners  spread. 

And  forge  vile  shackles  for  the  free-born  mind. 
While  Insolence  his  wrinkled  front  uprears. 

And  all  the  flowers  of  spurious  fancy  blow  ; 
And  Title  his  ill-woven  chaplet  wears. 

Full  often  wreathed  around  the  miscreant's  brow. 
Where  ever-dimpling  Falsehood,  pert  and  vain. 

Presents  her  cup  of  stale  profession's  froth; 
And  pale  Disease,  with  all  his  bloated  train. 

Torments  the  sons  of  gluttony  and  sloth. 

Strophe. 

In  Fortune's  car  behold  that  minion  ride, 

With  either  India's  glittering  spoils  oppressed; 
So  moves  the  sumpter-mule  in  harnessed  pride, 

That  bears  the  treasure  which  he  cannot  taste. 
For  him  let  venal  bards  disgrace  the  bay. 

And  hireling  minstrels  wake  the  tinkling  string  ; 
Her  sensual  snares  let  faithless  pleasure  lay. 

And  jingling  bells  fantastic  folly  ring  : 
Disquiet,  doubt,  and  dread  shall  intervene  ; 

And  nature,  still  to  all  her  feelings  just. 
In  vengeance  hang  a  damp  on  every  scene. 

Shook  from  the  baleful  pinions  of  disgust. 


—  51  — 
Antistrophe. 

Nature  I'll  court  in  her  sequestered  haunts, 

By  mountain,  meadow,  streamlet,  grove,  or  cell ; 
Where  the  poised  lark  his  evening  ditty  chants, 

And  health,  and  peace,  and  contemplation  dwell. 
There,  study  shall  with  solitude  recline, 

And  friendship  pledge  me  to  his  fellow-swains. 
And  toil  and  temperance  sedately  twine 

The  slender  cord  that  fluttering  life  sustains  ; 
And  fearless  poverty  shall  guard  the  door. 

And  taste  unspoiled  the  frugal  table  spread. 
And  industry  supply  the   humble  store, 

And  sleep  unbribed  his  dews  refreshing  shed  ; 
White-mantled  Innocence,  ethereal  sprite, 

Shall  chase  far  off  the  goblins  of  the  night : 
And  Independence  o'er  the  day  preside, 

Propitious  power  !  my  patron  and  my  pride. 

John  Armstrong  (1709-1779).— One  of  the 
most  happy  examples  of  the  literary  physician  pre- 
sented to  us  in  the  gallery  of  the  eighteenth  century 
is  certainly  that  of  John  Armstrong.  He  attained 
great  proficiency  in  the  medical  sciences,  and  dis- 
tinguished himself  as  a  poet  whose  name  will  always 
shine  with  splendor  on  Fame's  fair  temple.  His  first 
poetical  production,  while  it  glowed  with  all  the 
effulgence  and  contained  the  very  essence  of  true 
poetic  inspiration,  was  not  well  received  on  account 
of  the  occasional  immoral  extremes  into  which  his 
muse  was  led.  Later  he  wrote  two  other  poems — 
''Benevolence"  and  "Taste."     I  think,  however,  his 


—  52  — 

"  Art  of  Preservin;^  Health  "  will  continue  to  be  re- 
garded as  his  best  work.  From  a  precarious  income 
Dr.  Armstrong  managed  to  leave  the  sum  of  $15,000. 
I  wish  I  could  give  many  quotations  from  this  bard, 
whose  poems  can  be  read  with  such  pleasure  and 
profit,  but  I  can  only  give  a  few. 

OVER-INDULGENCE  IN  WINE. 

But,  most  too  passive,  when  the  blood  runs  low, 

Too  weakly  indolent  to  strive  with  pain 

And  bravely  by  resisting  conquer  fate, 

Try  Circe's  arts;  and  in  the  tempting  bowl 

Of  poisoned  nectar  sweet  oblivion  swill. 

Struck  by  the  powerful  charm,  the  gloom  dissolves 

In  empty  air;  Elysium  opens  round, 

A  pleasing  frenzy  buoys  the  lightened  soul. 

And  sanguine  hopes  dispel  your  fleeting  care; 

And  what  was  difficult,  and  what  was  dire, 

Yields  to  your  prowess  and  superior  stars: 

The  happiest  you  of  all  that  e'er  were  mad, 

Or  are,  or  shall  be,  could  this  folly  last. 

But  soon  your  heaven  is  gone;  a  heavier  gloom 

Shuts  o'er  your  head;  and,  as  the  thundering  stream, 

Swollen  o'er  its  banks  with  sudden  mountain  rain, 

Sinks  from  its  tumult  to  a  silent  brook, 

So,  when  the  frantic  raptures  in  your  breast 

Subside,  you  languish  into  mortal  man; 

You  sleep,  and  waking  find  yourself  undone, 

For,  prodigal  of  life,  in  one  rash  night 

You  lavished  more  than  might  support  three  days. 

A  heavy  morning  comes;  your  cares  return 

With  tenfold  rage.     An  anxious  stomach  well 

May  be  endured;  so  may  the  throbbing  head; 


—  53  — 

But  such  a  dim  delirium,  such  a  dream, 
Involves  you,  such  a  dastardly  despair 
Unmans  your  soul,  as  maddening  Plentheus  felt, 
When,  baited  round  Cithaeron's  cruel  sides. 
He  saw  two  suns,  and  double  Thebes,  ascend. 

PESTILENCE  OF  THE  FIFTEENTH  CENTURY. 

Ere  yet  the  fell  Plantagenets  had  spent 
Their  ancient  rage  at  Bosworth's  purple  field; 
While,  for  which  tyrant  England  should  receive, 
Her  legions  in  incestuous  murders  mixed 
And  daily  horrors;  till  the  fates  were  drunk 
With  kindred  blood  by  kindred  hands  profused: 
Another  plague  of  more  gigantic  arm 
Arose  ;    a  monster  never  known  before 
Reared  from  Cocytus  its  portentous  head; 
This  rapid  fury  not,  like  other  pests, 
Pursued  a  gradual  course,  but  in  a  day 
Rushed  as  a  storm  o'er  half  the  astonished  isle, 
And  strewed  with  sudden  carcasses  the  land. 

First  through  the  shoulders,  or  whatever  part 
Was  seized  the  first,  a  fervid  vapour  sprung; 
With  rash  combustion  thence,  the  quivering  spark 
Shot  to  the  heart  and  kindled  all  within; 
And  soon  the  surface  caught  the  spreading  fires. 
Through  all  the  yielding  pores  the  melted  blood 
Gushed  out  in  smoky  sweats;  but  naught  assuaged 
The  torrid  heat  within,  nor  aught  relieved 
The  stomach's  anguish.     With  incessant  toil. 
Desperate  of  ease,  impatient  of  their  pain. 
They  tossed  from  side  to  side.     In  vain  the  stream 
Ran  full  and  clear;  they  burnt,  and  thirsted  still. 
The  restless  arteries  with  rapid  blood 
Beat  strong  and  frequent.     Thick  and  pantingly 


—  54  — 
The  breath  was  fetched,  and  with  huge  labourings  heaved. 
At  last  a  heavy  pain  oppressed  the  head, 
A  wild  delirium  came;  their  weeping  friends 
Were  strangers  now,  and  this  no  home  of  theirs. 
Harassed  with  toil  on  toil,  the  sinking  powers 
Lay  prostrate  and  o'erthrown;  a  ponderous  sleep 
Wrapt  all  the  senses  up:  they  slept  and  died. 

In  some  a  gentle  horror  crept  at  first 
O'er  all  the  limbs;  the  sluices  of  the  skin 
Withheld  their  moisture,  till  by  art  provoked 
The  sweats  o'erflowed,  but  in  a  clammy  tide; 
Now  free  and  copious,  now  restrained  and  slow; 
Of  tinctures  various,  as  the  temperature 
Had  mixed  the  blood,  and  rank  with  fetid  streams, 
As  if  the  pent-up  humours  by  delay 
Were  grown  more  fell,  more  putrid,  and  malign. 
Here  lay  their  hopes  (though  little  hope  remained), 
With  full  effusion  of  perpetual  sweats 
To  drive  the  venom  out.     And  here  the  fates 
Were  kind,  that  long  they  lingered  not  in  pain; 
For,  who  survived  the  sun's  diurnal  race 
Rose  from  the  dreary  gates  of  hell  redeemed; 
Some  the  sixth  hour  oppressed,  and  some  the  third. 
Of  many  thousands,  few  untainted  'scaped; 
Of  those  infected,  fewer  'scaped  alive; 
Of  those  who  lived,  some  felt  a  second  blow; 
And  whom  the  second  spared,  a  third  destroyed. 
Frantic  with  fear,  they  sought  by  flight  to  shun 
The  fierce  contagion.     O'er  the  mournful  land 
The  infected  cit-y  poured  her  hurrying  swarms: 
Roused  by  the  flames  that  fired  her  seats  around. 
The  infected  country  rushed  into  the  town. 
Some  sad  at  home,  and  in  the  desert  some, 
Abjured  the  fatal  commerce  of  mankind. 


—  55  — 

In  vain;  where'er  they  fled,  the  fates  pursued. 

Others,  with  hopes  more  specious,  crossed  the  main, 

To  seek  protection  'neath  far-distant  skies. 

But  none  they  found.     It  seemed  the  general  air, 

From  pole  to  pole,  from  Atlas  to  the  east, 

Was  then  at  enmity  with  English  blood; 

For,  but  the  race  of  England,  all  were  safe 

In  foreign  climes;  nor  did  this  fury  taste 

The  foreign  blood  which  England  then  contained. 

Where  should  they  fly?    The  circumambient  heaven 

Involved  them  still,  and  every  breeze  was  bane. 

Where-find  relief?     The  salutary  art 

Was  mute,  and,  startled  at  the  new  disease, 

In  fearful  whispers  hopeless  omens  gave. 

To  Heaven  with  suppliant  rites  they  sent  their  prayers; 

Heaven  heard  them  not.     Of  every  hope  deprived, 

Fatigued  with  vain  resources,  and  subdued 

With  woes  resistless,  and  enfeebling  fear, 

Passive  they  sunk  beneath  the  mighty  blow. 

Nothing  but  lamentable  sounds  were  heard. 

Nor  aught  was  seen  but  ghastly  views  of  death. 

Infectious  horror  ran  from  face  to  face, 

And  pale  despair.     'Twas  all  the  business  then 

To  tend  the  sick,  and  in  their  turn  to  die. 

In  heaps  they  fell;  and  oft  the  bed,  they  say, 

The  sickening,  dying,  and  the  dead  contained. 

Oliver  Goldsmith  (1728-1774). — One  of  the 
most  agreeable  and  general  writers  and  one  of  the 
best  of  the  British  poets  was  Oliver  Goldsmith.  He 
cared  nothing  for  money,  and  his  life  is  one  which 
can  be  read  with  the  greatest  interest,  for  he  was  not 
only  a  man  of  the  highest  order  of  genius,  but  one 


_  56  - 

who  cared  nothing  for  the  morrow  and  one  who  had 
a  "  heart  for  any  fate."  He  studied  medicine,  and, 
while  he  made  literature  his  life's  work,  he  frequently 
practiced  his  profession.  The  list  of  his  productions 
would  be  long,  as  many  of  them  were  written  accord- 
ing to  contract  for  booksellers;  they  would  add  noth- 
ing to  his  glory  if  mentioned.  His  ''Animated 
Nature  "  was  written  to  supply  the  demand  which 
some  bookseller  had  for  a  work  on  natural  history, 
and  so  were  many  other  of  his  works.  His  fame, 
however,  if  trusted  only  to  his  great  novel,  "  The 
Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  and  only  two  of  his  many 
poems,  "  The  Deserted  Village  "  and  "  The  Travel- 
ler," would  be  as  lasting  as  the  "  eternal  hills." 

The  poems  of  Goldsmith  are  so  familiar  that  I 
shall  quote  only  a  few: 

EXTRACTS     FROM     "  THE    TRAVELLER." 

Remote,  unfriended,  melancholy,  slow. 
Or  by  the  lazy  Scheld,  or  wandering  Po; 
Or  onward,  where  the  rude  Corinthian  boor 
Against  the  houseless  stranger  shuts  the  door; 
Or  where  Campania's  plain  forsaken  lies, 
A  weary  waste  expanding  to  the  skies; 
Where'er  I  roam,  whatever  realms  to  see. 
My  heart  untravelled  fondly  turns  to  thee; 

But  me  not  destined  such  delights  to  share, 
My  prime  of  life  in  wandering  spent  and  care; 
Impelled  with  steps  unceasing  to  pursue 
Some  fleeting  good,  that  mocks  me  with  the  view; 


—  57  — 

That,  like  the  circle  bounding  earth  and  skies, 
Allures  from  far,  yet,  as  I  follow,  flies; 
My  fortune  leads  to  traverse  realms  alone, 
And  find  no  spot  of  all  the  world  my  own. 
Ev'n  now,  where  Alpine  solitudes  ascend, 
I  sit  me  dov/n  a  pensive  hour  to  spend; 
And,  placed  on  high  above  the  storm's  career, 
Look  downward  where  an  hundred  realms  appear; 
Lakes,  forests,  cities,  plains  extending  wide, 
The  pomp  of  kings,  the  shepherd's  humbler  pride. 
When  thus  creation's  charms  around  combine, 
Amidst  the  store  should  thankless  pride  repine? 
Say,  should  the  philosophic  mind  disdain 
That  good  which  makes  each  humbler  bosom  vain  ? 
Let  school-taught  pride  dissemble  all  it  can, 
These  little  things  are  great  to  little  man; 
And  wiser  he,  whose  sympathetic  mind 
,  Exults  in  all  the  good  of  all  mankind. 
Ye  glittering  towns,  with  wealth  and  splendour  crowned, 
Ye  fields,  where  summer  spreads  profusion  round; 
Ye  lakes,  whose  vessels  catch  the  busy  gale; 
Ye  bending  swains,  that  dress  the  flowery  vale; 
For  me  your  tributary  stores  combine: 
Creation's  heir,  the  world,  the  world  is  mine  ! 

Dr.  Erasmus  Darwin  (i  731-1802). — This 
gentleman  was  one  of  the  most  distinguished  and 
scholarly  physicians  of  his  time.  He  was  a  great  and 
ardent  lover  of  nature.  He  loved  and  cultivated 
botany.  His  home  was  picturesque  and  in  all  re- 
spects the  abode  of  a  poet.  He  feared  that  to  pub- 
hsh  his  poems  would  injure  his  practice.  A  second 
marriage  added  $3,000  to  his  income,  and  he  began 


-  58  - 

to  indulge  his  poetic  desires,  and  to  give  to  the  world 
those  divine  thoughts  and  conceits  which  fill  the 
reader  of  his  poems  with  such  rapture.  The  follow- 
ing quotations  will  serve  to  give  the  reader  an  idea  of 
the  beauty  and  field  of  his  poetical  work: 

INVOCATION    TO    THE    GODDESS    OF    BOTANY. 
[From  the  ''^Botanic  Garden/^^ 

Stay  your  rude  steps  !  whose  throbbing  breasts  infold 
The  legion-fiends  of  glory  and  of  gold  ! 
Stay,  whose  false  lips  seductive  simpers  part, 
While  cunning  nestles  in  the  harlot  heart ! 
For  you  no  dryads  dress  the  roseate  bower, 
For  you  no  nymphs  their  sparkling  vases  pour; 
Unmarked  by  you,  light  graces  swim  the  green, 
And  hovering  Cupids  aim  their  shafts  unseen. 

But  thou  whose  mind  the  well  attempered  ray 
Of  taste  and  virtue  lights  with  purer  day; 
Whose  finer  sense  the  soft  vibration  owns 
With  sweet  responsive  sympathy  of  tones — 
So  the  fair  flower  expands  its  lucid  form 
To  meet  the  sun,  and  shuts  it  to  the  storm  — 
For  thee  my  borders  nurse  the  fragrant  wreath, 
My  fountains  murmur,  and  my  zephyrs  breathe; 
Slow  slides  the  painted  snail,  the  gilded  fly 
Smooths  his  fine  down,  to  charm  thy  curious  eye; 
On  twinkling  fins  my  pearly  pinions  play, 
Or  win  with  sinuous  train  their  trackless  way; 
My  plumy  pairs,  in  gay  embroidery  dressed. 
Form  with  ingenious  bill  the  pensile  nest. 
To  love's  sweet  notes  attune  the  listening  dell, 
And  Echo  sounds  her  soft  symphonious  shell. 

And  if  with  thee  some  hapless  maid  should  stray. 


—  59  — 

Disastrous  love  companion  of  her  way, 

Oh,  lead  her  timid  steps  to  yonder  glade, 

Whose  arching  cliffs  depending  alders  shade; 

Where,  as  meek  evening  wakes  her  temperate  breeze. 

And  moonbeams  glitter  through  the  trembling  trees, 

The  rills  that  gurgle  round  shall  soothe  her  ear. 

The  weeping  rocks  shall  number  tear  for  tear; 

There,  as  sad  Philomel,  alike  forlorn. 

Sings  to  the  night  from  her  accustomed  thorn 

While  at  sweet  intervals  each  falling  note 

Sighs  with  the  gale  and  whispers  round  the  grot. 

The  sister  woe  shall  calm  her  aching  breast. 

And  softer  slumbers  steal  her  cares  to  rest. 

Winds  of  the  north  !  restrain  your  icy  gales. 
Nor  chill  the  bosom  of  these  happy  vales  ! 
Hence  in  dark  heaps,  ye  gathering  clouds,  revolve  I 
Disperse,  ye  lightnings!  and  ye  mists,  dissolve  ! 
Hither,  emerging  from  yon  orient  skies, 
Botanic  goddess,  lend  thy  radiant  eyes; 
O'er  these  soft  scenes  assume  thy  gentle  reign, 
Pomona,  Ceres,  Flora  in  thy  train; 
O'er  the  still  dawn  thy  placid  smile  effuse. 
And  with  thy  silver  sandals  print  the  dews; 
In  noon's  bright  blaze  thy  vermeil  vest  unfold, 
And  wave  thy  emerald  banner  starred  with  gold. 
Thus  spoke  the  genius  as  he  stept  along. 
And  bade  these  lawns  to  peace  and  truth  belong; 
Down  the  steep  slopes  he  led  with  modest  skill 
The  willing  pathway  and  the  truant  rill; 
Stretched  o'er  the  marshy  vale  yon  willowy  mound. 
Where  shines  the  lake  amid  the  tufted  ground; 
Raised  the  young  woodlands,  smoothed  the  wary  green, 
And  gave  to  beauty  all  the  quiet  scene. 
She  comes  !  the  goddess  !    Through  the  whispering  air. 


—  6o  — 

Bright  as  the  morn  descends  her  blushing  car; 
Each  circling  wheel  a  wreath  of  flowers  entwines, 
And,  gemmed  with  flowers,  the  silken  harness  shines; 
The  golden  bits  with  flowery  studs  are  decked, 
And  knots  of  flowers  the  crimson  reins  connect. 
And  now  on  earth  the  silver  axle  rings. 
And  the  shell  sinks  upon  its  slender  springs; 
Light  from  her  airy  seat  the  goddess  bounds, 
And  steps  celestial  press  the  pansied  grounds. 
Fair  Spring  advancing  calls  her  feathered  quire. 
And  tunes  to  softer  notes  her  laughing  lyre; 
Bids  her  gay  hours  on  purple  pinions  move. 
And  arms  her  zephyrs  with  the  shafts  of  love. 

DEATH    OF    ELIZA    AT    THE    BATTLE    OF    MINDEN. 

\^F7'om  the  ^^ Loves  of  the  Plants y'\ 

Now  stood  Eliza  on  the  wood-crowned  height, 
O'er  Minden's  plain,  spectatress  of  the  fight; 
Sought  with  bold  eye  amid  the  bloody  strife 
Her  dearer  self,  the  partner  of  her  life; 
From  hill  to  hill  the  rushing  host  pursued, 
And  viewed  his  banner,  or  believed  she  viewed. 
Pleased  with  the  distant  roar,  with  quicker  tread, 
Fast  by  his  hand  one  lisping  boy  she  led; 
And  one  fair  girl  amid  the  loud  alarm 
Slept  on  her  kerchief,  cradled  by  her  arm; 
While  round  her  brows  bright  beams  of  Honor  dart, 
And  Love's  warm  eddies  circle  round  her  heart. 
Near  and  more  near  the  intrepid  beauty  pressed, 
Saw  through  the  driving  smoke  his  dancing  crest; 
Saw  on  his  helm  her  virgin  hands  inwove, 
Bright  stars  of  gold,  and  mystic  knots  of  love; 
Heard  the  exulting  shout,  "  They  run  !  they  run  !  " 


—  6i  — 

"Great  God  !  "  she  cried,  "  he's  safe  !  the  battle's  won  !" 
A  ball  now  hisses  through  the  airy  tides — 
Some  fury  winged  it,  and  some  demon  guides  ! — 
Parts  the  fine  locks  her  graceful  head  that  deck, 
Wounds  her  fair  ear,  and  sinks  into  her  neck; 
The  red  stream,  issuing  from  her  azure  veins, 
Dyes  her  white  veil,  her  ivory  bosom  stains. 
"Ah  me  !"  she  cried,  and  sinking  on  the  ground, 
Kissed  her  dear  babes,  regardless  of  the  wound; 
"O  cease  not  yet  to  beat,  thou  vital  urn  ! 
Wait,  gushing  life,  O  wait  my  love's  return  !" 
Hoarse  barks  the  wolf,  the  vulture  screams  from  far; 
The  angel  Pity  shuns  the  walks  of  war  ! 
"O  spare,  ye  war-hounds,  spare  their  tender  age; 
On  me.  on  me,"  she  cried,  "  exhaust  your  rage  !  " 
Then  with  weak  arms  her  weeping  babes'caressed, 
And,  sighing,  hid  them  in  her  blood-stained  vest. 

From  tent  to  tent  the  impatient  warrior  flies, 
Fear  in  his  heart  and  frenzy  in  his  eyes; 
Eliza's  name  along  the  camp  he  calls, 
"  Eliza  !  "  echoes  through  the  canvas  walls; 
Quick  through  the  murmuring  gloom  his  footsteps  tread 
O'er  groaning  heaps,  the  dying  and  the  dead. 
Vault  o'er  the  plain,  and  in  the  tangled  wood — 
Lo  !  dead  Eliza  weltering  in  her  blood  ! 
Soon  hears  his  listening  son  the  welcome  sounds; 
With  open  arms  and  sparkling  eye  he  bounds: 
"Speak  low,"  he  cries,  and  gives  his  little  hand, 
"  Mamma's  asleep  upon  the  dew-cold  sand." 
Poor  weeping  babe,  with  bloody  fingers  pressed, 
And  tried  with  pouting  lips  her  milkless  breast: 
"  Alas  !  we  both  with  cold  and  hunger  quake — 
Why  do  you  weep  ?     Mamma  will  soon  awake." 
"  She'll  wake  no  more  !"  the  hapless  mourner  cried, 


—    62    — 

upturned  his  eyes,  and  clasped  his  hands,  and  sighed; 
Stretched  on  the  ground,  awhile  entranced  he  lay, 
And  pressed  warm  kisses  on  the  lifeless  clay; 
And  then  upsprung  with  wild  convulsive  start, 
And  all  the  father  kindled  in  his  heart; 
"  O  heavens! "  he  cried,  "  my  first  rash  vow  forgive; 
These  bind  to  earth,  for  these  I  pray  to  live  !  " 
Round  his  chill  babes  he  wrapped  his  crimson  vest, 
And  clasped  them  sobbing  to  his  aching  breast. 

SONG    TO    ECHO. 

Sweet  echo  !  sleeps  thy  vocal  shell, 
Where  this  high  arch  o'erhangs  the  dell; 
While  Tweed,  with  sun-reflecting  streams, 
Checkers  thy  rocks  with  dancing  beams. 

Here  may  no  clamours  harsh  intrude, 
No  brawling  hound  or  clarion  rude; 
Here  no  fell  beast  of  midnight  prowl. 
And  teach  thy  tortured  cliffs  to  howl. 

Be  thine  to  pour  these  vales  along 
Some  artless  shepherd's  evening  song; 
While  night's  sweet  bird  from  yon  high  spray 
Responsive  listens  to  his  lay. 

And  if,  like  me,  some  love-lorn  maid 
Should  sing  her  sorrows  to  the  shade, 
Oh  !  soothe  her  breast,  ye  rocks  around. 
With  softest  sympathy  of  sound. 

Dr.  John  Wolcot  (1738-1819). — Dr.  John 
Wolcot  was  one  of  those  peculiar  satirical  figures  who 
used  their  poetical  powers  to  add  sharpness  to  their 
lance,  and  to  laugh  at  the  follies  of  the  world.     His 


-  63  - 

line  of  poetry  covers  all  the  men  and  manners  of  his 
time.  He  seems  to  have  been  only  happy  when  some 
act  of  folly  or  some  absurd  incident  gave  him  an 
opportunity  to  write  satirically — the  fact  that  the 
King  found  a  louse  in  his  plate  and  ordered  the 
heads  of  all  the  waiters  shaved  was  a  precious  piece 
of  news  which  he  turned  into  a  poem  at  which  all 
England,  save  those  interested,  shook  their  sides.  He 
does  not  seem  to  have  prospered  as  a  practitioner  of 
medicine,  and  his  poems,  in  the  very  nature  of  the 
case,  could  not  live  long.  They  were  "  modern 
instances,"  or  comments  on  passing  incidents,  and  of 
course  must  soon  lose  their  favor  when  new  things 
and  new  comments  are  come. 

THE    PILGRIMS    AND     THE    PEAS. 

A  brace  of  sinners,  for  no  good, 
Were  ordered  to  the  Virgin  Mary's  shrine, 
Who  at  Loretto  dwelt  in  wax,  stone,  wood. 
And  in  a  curled  white  wig  looked  wondrous  fine. 

Fifty  long  miles  had  these  sad  rogues  to  travel, 

With  something  in  their  shoes  much  worse  than  gravel; 

In  short,  their  toes  so  gentle  to  amuse, 

The  priest  had  ordered  peasinto  their  shoes. 

A  nostrum  famous  in  old  popish  times 
For  purifying  souls  that  stunk  with  crimes. 
A  sort  of  apostolic  salt. 
That  popish  parsons  for  its  powers  exalt, 
For  keeping  souls  of  sinners  sweet, 
Just  as  our  kitchen  salt  keeps  meat. 


-  64  - 

The  knaves  set  off  on  the  same  day, 

Peas  in  their  shoes,  to  go  and  pray; 

But  very  different  was  their  speed,  I  wot. 

One  of  the  sinners  galloped  on, 

Light  as  a  bullet  from  a  gun; 

The  other  limped  as  if  he  had  been  shot. 

One  saw  the  Virgin,  soon  Peccavi  cried; 

Had  his  soul  whitewashed  all  so  clever, 

When  home  again  he  nimbly  hied. 

Made  fit  with  saints  above  to  live  forever. 

In  coming  back,  however,  let  me  say. 

He  met  his  brother  rogue  about  half-way. 

Hobbling  with  outstretched  hams  and  bending  knees» 

Cursing  the  souls  and  bodies  of  the  peas; 

His  eyes  in  tears,  his  cheeks  and  brow  in  sweat, 

Deep  sympathizing  with  his  groaning  feet. 

"  How  now!  "  the  light-toed, whitewashed  pilgrim  broke, 

"  You  lazy  lubber!  " 

"  Confound  it!  "  cried  t'other,    "  'tis  no  joke; 

My  feet,  once  hard  as  any  rock, 

Are  now  as  soft  as  blubber. — 

Excuse  me.  Virgin  Mary,  that  I  swear; 

As  for  Loretto,  I  shall  not  get  there; 

No!  to  the  Devil  my  sinful  soul  must  go. 

For  hang  me  if  I  ha'n't  lost  every  toe! 

"  But,  brother  sinner,  do  explain 

How  'tis  that  you  are  not  in  pain; 

What  power  hath  worked  a  wonder  for  your  toes — 

Whilst  I,  just  like  a  snail,  am  crawling. 

Now  swearing,  now  on  saints  devoutly  bawling, 

Whilst  not  a  rascal  comes  to  ease  my  woes  ? 


-  65  - 

"  How  is't  that  you  can  like  a  greyhound  go, 

Merry  as  if  naught  had  happened,  burn  ye?" 

"  Why,"  cried  the  other,  grinning.    "  you  must  know 

That  just  before  I  ventured  on  my  journey, 

To  walk  a  little  more  at  ease, 

I  took  the  liberty  to  boil  my  peas." 

THE    APPLE    DUMPLING    AND    A    KING. 

Once  on  a  time,  a  monarch,  tired  with  whooping. 
Whipping  and  spurring, 
Happy  in  worrying 
A  poor  defenceless  harmless  buck — 
The  horse  and  rider  wet  as  muck — 
From  his  high  consequence  and  wisdom  stooping 
Entered  through  curiosity  a  cot, 
Where  sat  a  poor  old  woman  and  her  pot. 

The  wrinkled,  blear-eyed,  good  old  granny 
In  this  same  cot,  illumed  by  many  a  cranny, 
Had  finished  apple  dumpling  for  her  pot; 
In  tempting  row  the  naked  dumplings  lay, 
When  lo!  the  monarch,  in  his  usual  way, 
Like  lightning  spoke:  "  What's  this  ?— What's  this  ?— 
What,  what?" 

Then,  taking  up  a  dumpling  in  his  hand. 

His  eyes  with  admiration  did  expand; 

And  oft  did  majesty  the  dumpling  grapple; 

At  length,  his  curiosity  aroused,  he  cried: 

"  'Tis  monstrous,  monstrous  hard  indeed! 

What  makes  it,  pray,  so  hard  ? "     The  dame  replied, 

Low  curtsying:   "  Please,  your  majesty,  the  apple." 

5  GGG 


—  66  ~ 

"  Very  astonishing,  indeed!     Strange  thing!  " — 

Turning  the  dumpling  round — rejoined  the  king. 

"  'Tis  most  extraordinary,  then,  all  this  is — 

It  beats  Pinette's  conjuring  all  to  pieces. 

Strange  I  should  never  of  a  dumpling  dream! 

But,  goody,  tell  me  where — where — where's  the  seam?' 

"  Sir,  there's  no  seam,"  quoth  she;  "I  never  knew 
That  folks  did  apple  dumplings  sew." 
*'  No  ?  "  cried  the  staring  monarch,  with  a  grin: 
"  How,  how  the  devil  got  the  apple  in  ?  " 

On  which  the  dame  the  curious  scheme  revealed 
By  which  the  apple  lay  so  sly  concealed. 
Which  made  the  Solomon  of  Britain  start; 
Who  to  the  palace  with  full  speed  repaired 
And  queen  and  princesses  so  beauteous  scared. 
All  with  the  wonders  of  the  dumpling  art. 

There  did  he  labour  one  whole  week  to  shew 
The  wisdom  of  an  apple  dumpling  maker; 

And,  lo!  so  deep  was  majesty  in  dough 
The  palace  seemed  the  lodging  of  a  baker! 


George  Crabbe  (i 754-1832). — George  Crabbe 
was  apprenticed  to  a  surgeon  in  early  life,  and  learned 
the  medical  sciences.  Although  he  abandoned  medi- 
cine, and  followed  literature  and  the  life  of  a  clergy- 
man, he  wrote  much  against  quackery,  and  showed  in 
all  things  that  his  first  love,  medicine,  was  dear  to  his 
heart. 

The  following  extracts  from  his  poems  will  give 
the  reader  an  idea  of  his  poetical  work: 


-  67  - 

THE    PARISH    WORKHOUSE    AND    APOTHECARY. 

\^From   "  The  Village y\ 

There,  in  yon  house  that  holds  the  parish  poor, 
Whose  walls  of  mud  scarce  bear  the  broken  door; 
There,  where  the  putrid  vapours,  flagging,  play, 
And  the  dull  wheel  hums  doleful  through  the  day; 
There  children  dwell  who  know  no  parents'  care; 
Parents,  who  know  no  children's  love,  dwell  there; 
Heart-broken  matrons  on  their  joyless  bed, 
Forsaken  wives,  and  mothers  never  wed; 
Dejected  widows  with  unheeded  tears. 
And  crippled  age  with  more  than  childhood's  fears; 
The  lame,  the  blind,  and — far  the  happiest  they  ! — 
The  moping  idiot  and  the  madman  gay. 

Here,  too,  the  sick  their  final  doom  receive, 
Here  brought,  amid  the  scenes  of  grief  to  grieve, 
Where  the  loud  groans  from  some  sad  chamber  flow, 
Mixed  with  the  clamours  of  the  crowd  below; 
Here  sorrowing,  they  each  kindred  sorrow  scan. 
And  the  cold  charities  of  man  to  man — 
Whose  laws  indeed  for  ruined  age  provide, 
And  strong  compulsion  plucks  the  scrap  from  pride; 
But  still  that  scrap  is  bought  with  many  a  sigh, 
And  pride  embitters  what  it  can't  deny. 
Say  ye,  oppressed  by  some  fantastic  woes. 
Some  jarring  nerve  that  baffles  your  repose; 
Who  press  the  downy  couch,  while  slaves  advance 
With  timid  eye,  to  read  the  distant  glance; 
Who  with  sad  prayers  the  weary  doctor  tease. 
To  name  the  nameless  ever-new  disease; 
Who  with  mock  patience  dire  complaints  endure, 
Which  real  pain,  and  that  alone,  can  cure; 


—  68  — 

How  would  ye  bear  in  real  pain  to  lie, 

Despised,  neglected,  left  alone  to  die? 

How  would  ye  bear  to  draw  your  latest  breath 

Where  all  that's  wretched  paves  the  way  for  death  ? 

Such  is  that  room  which  one  rude  beam  divides, 
And  naked  rafters  form  the  sloping  sides; 
Where  the  vile  bands  that  bind  the  thatch  are  seen, 
And  lath  and  mud  are  all  that  lie  between, 
Save  one  dull  pane  that,  coarsely  patched,  gives  way 
To  the  rude  tempest,  yet  excludes  the  day; 
Here,  on  a  matted  flock,  with  dust  o'erspread. 
The  drooping  wretch  reclines  his  languid  head; 
For  him  no  hand  the  cordial  cup  applies. 
Or  wipes  the  tear  that  stagnates  in  his  eyes; 
No  friends  with  soft  discourse  his  pain  beguile, 
Or  promise  hope  till  sickness  wears  a  smile. 
But  soon  a  loud  and  hasty  summons  calls, 
Shakes  the  thin  roof  and  echoes  round  the  walls; 
Anon  a  figure  enters,  quaintly  neat, 
All  pride  and  business,  bustle  and  conceit, 
With  looks  unaltered  by  these  scenes  of  woe, 
With  speed  that,  entering,  speaks  his  haste  to  go; 
He  bids  the  gazing  throng  around  him  fly, 
And  carries  fate  and  physic  in  his  eye: 
A  potent  quack,  long  versed  in  human  ills. 
Who  first  insults  the  victim  whom  he  kills; 
Whose  murderous  hand  a  drowsy  Bench  protect. 
And  whose  most  tender  mercy  is  neglect. 

Paid  by  the  parish  for  attendance  here, 
He  wears  contempt  upon  his  sapient  sneer; 
In  haste  he  seeks  the  bed  where  misery  lies, 
Impatience  marked  in  his  averted  eyes; 
And,  some  habitual  queries  hurried  o'er, 
Without  reply,  he  rushes  to  the  door. 


-  69  - 

His  drooping  patient,  long  inured  to  pain, 
And  long  unheeded,  knows  remonstrance  vain; 
He  ceases  now  the  feeble  help  to  crave 
Of  man;  and,  silent,  sinks  into  the  grave. 


John  Keats  (1795-1821). — The  most  meteoric 
figure  in  the  literature  of  the  early  decades  of  the 
nineteenth  century  is  John  Keats.  Dying  in  his 
twenty-fifth  year,  before  the  intellect  of  most  men 
has  developed  sufficiently  to  allow  them  to  judge 
wisely,  or  bring  out  in  good  taste  the  whisperings  of 
genius,  it  is  to  be  wondered  at  that  Keats  enjoys  the 
fame  which  posterity  joins  in  giving  him.  His  first 
poem,  "  Endymion,"  was  savagely  criticised,  and  we 
are  told  he  suffered  such  profound  melancholy  in  con- 
sequence that  only  the  strictest  watching  prevented 
him  from  committing  suicide.  But  his  other  poems, 
especially  "  Hyperion,"  were  received  with  less  hos- 
tile criticism,  and  he  gained  much  spirit.  When  his 
age  is  taken  into  account,  the  poems  of  Keats  must 
be  considered  better  than  the  work  of  many  poets  of 
like  age,  yet  I  have  not  derived  the  pleasure  from 
reading  his  lines  that  others  do,  and  I  have  failed  to 
find  just  ground  to  attribute  claims  of  great  genius 
to  him.  Keats  had  "  walked  the  hospitals,"  and 
had  prepared  himself  to  practice  medicine.  He  was 
about  to  engage  as  ship-surgeon  when  consumption, 
from  which  he  had  long  been  a  sufferer,  carried  him 
off. 


—  70  — 

TO    AUTUiMN. 

Season  of  mists  and  mellow  fruitfulness  ! 

Close  bosom  friend  of  the  maturing  sun; 

Conspiring  with  him  how  to  load  and  bless 

With  fruit  the  vines  that  round  the  thatch-eaves   run; 

To  bend  with  apples  the  mossed  cottage  tree, 

And  fill  all  fruit  with  ripeness  to  the  core; 

To  swell  the  gourd  and  plump  the  hazel  shells 

With  a  sweet  kernel;  to  set  budding  more, 

And  still  more,  later  flowers  for  the  bees. 

Until  they  think  warm  days  will  never  cease, 

For  summer  has  o'er-brimmed  their  clammy  cells. 

Who  hath  not  seen  thee  oft  amid  thy  store  ? 

Sometimes,  whoever  seeks  abroad  may  find 

Thee  sitting  careless  on  a  granary  floor, 

Thy  hair  soft-lifted  by  the  winnowing  wind; 

Or  on  a  half-reaped  furrow  sound  asleep, 

Drowsed  with  the  fume  of  poppies,  while  thy  hook 

Spares  the  next  swath  and  all  its  twined  flowers; 

And  sometimes  like  a  gleaner  thou  dost  keep 

Steady  thy  laden  head  across  a  brook; 

Or  by  a  cider-press  with  patient  look 

Thou  watchest  the  last  oozings,  hours  by  hours. 

Where  are  the  songs  of  Spring?     Ay,  where  are  they? 

Think  not  of  them;  thou  hast  thy  music  too, 

While  barred  clouds  bloom  o'er  the  soft  dying  day 

And  touch  the  stubble-plains  with  rosy  hue; 

Then  in  a  wailful  choir  the  small  gnats  mourn 

Among  the  river  sw^allows,  borne  aloft. 

Or  sinking,  as  the  light  wind  lives  or  dies; 

And  full-grown  lambs  loud  bleat  from  hilly  bourn; 

Hedge-crickets  sing;  and  now,  with  treble  soft. 

The  redbreast  whistles  from  a  garden  croft, 

And  gathering  swallows  twitter  from  the  skies. 


—  71  — 

ON    ENGLAND. 

Happy  is  England!     I  could  be  content 

To  see  no  other  verdure  than  its  own; 

To  feel  no  other  breezes  than  are  blown 

Through  its  tall  woods,  with  high  romances  blent. 

Yet  do  I  sometimes  feel  a  languishment 

For  skies  Italian,  and  an  inward  groan 

To  sit  upon  an  Alp  as  on  a  throne, 

And  half  forget  what  world  or  worlding  meant. 
Happy  is  England,  sweet  her  artless  daughters; 

Enough  their  simple  loveliness  for  me; 
Enough  their  whitest  arms  in  silence  clinging; 

Yet  do  I  often  warmly  burn  to  see 
Beauties  of  deeper  glance,  and  hear  their  singing, 
And  float  with  them  about  their  summer  waters. 

James  Currie  (1756  ). — The  name  of  James 

Currie  will  always  be  prominent  in  British  biography. 
He  was  one  of  the  greatest  practitioners  and  reform- 
ers of  his  particular  day,  having  been  the  first  to  call 
attention  to  the  value  of  water  in  the  treatment  of 
fevers.  He  contributed  to  literature.  He  wrote  a 
life  of  Robert  Burns,  and  edited  an  edition  of  his 
works.  It  is  said  many  of  Burns'  poems  owe  much  to 
the  touches  which  were  given  to  them  by  Currie. 

I  can  give  no  quotation  from  him  that  would  be 
of  value  in  the  small  space  at  my  command. 

David  Macbeth  Moir  (1798-185 i). — One  of 
the  sweetest  of  all  the  bards  who  have  ever  sung  was 
David  Macbeth  Moir.  He  practiced  medicine  suc- 
cessfully, and  was  greatly  beloved  by  all   who  knew 


—  72  — 
him.  He  was  a  faithful  and  constant  contributor  to 
Blackwood's  Magazine.  His  writings  cover  a  large 
field,  and  the  most  prominent  among  them  are  "The 
Legend  of  Genevieve,  with  Other  Tales  and  Poems," 
"Outlines  of  the  Ancient  History  of  Medicine," 
"  Domestic  Verses,"  "  Sketches  of  the  Poetical  Liter- 
ature of  the  Past  Half  Century,"  etc.  The  following 
poem,  while  inferior  to  much  of  his  verse,  will  give 
the  reader  an  idea  of  the  drift  of  his  genius: 

WHEN  THOU  AT  EVE   ART   ROAMING. 

When  thou  at  eve  art  roaming 

Along  the  elm-o'ershaded  walk, 
Where  fast  the  eddying  stream  is  foaming, 
And  falling  down,  a  cataract — 

'Twas  there  with  thee  I  wont  to  talk — 
Think  thou  upon  the  days  gone  by. 
And  heave  a  sigh. 

When  sails  the  moon  above  the  mountains, 
And  cloudless  skies  are  purely  blue, 

And  sparkle  in  her  light  the  fountains, 
And  darker  frowns  the  lonely  yew. 
Then  be  thou  melancholy  too 
While  pausing  on  the  hours  I  proved 
With  thee  beloved. 

When  wakes  the  dawn  upon  thy  dwelling. 
And  lingering  shadows  disappear, 

As  soft  the  woodland  songs  are  swelling 
A  choral  anthem  on  thine  ear. 
Muse,  for  that  hour  to  thought  is  dear. 
And  then  its  flight  remembrance  wings 
To  bypast  things. 


—  73  — 

To  me  through  every  season  dearest; 

In  every  scene  by  day,  by  night, 
Thou  present  to  my  mind  appearest 

A  quenchless  star  forever  bright; 

My  solitary,  sole  delight; 

Where'er  I  am — by  shore — at  sea — 
I  think  of  thee  ! 

Oliver    Wendell    Holmes    (1809    ). — Dr. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  is  probably  the  most  dis- 
tinguished living  example  of  the  physician  and 
litterateur  combined.  His  works  are  universally  read 
and  admired,  and  he  is  the  darling  of  the  American 
profession  and  people.  He  was  Professor  of  Anatomy 
and  Physiology  in  Dartmouth  College,  and  from  1847 
until  his  resignation  was  Professor  of  Anatomy  in  Har- 
vard. I  make  quotations  below  of  several  of  his  poems 
which  I  have  always  regarded  as  his  happiest  flights. 

I  have  given  but  little  account  of  his  life  and 
literary  activity,  because  he  is  already  so  well  known 
to  the  world. 

THE    STETHOSCOPE    SONG. 
A   Professional  Ballad. 

There  was  a  young  man  in  Boston  town. 
He  bought  him  a  Stethoscope  nice  and  new. 

All  mounted  and  finished  and  polished  down. 
With  an  ivory  cap  and  a  stopper  too. 

It  happened  a  spider  within  did  crawl 

And  spun  him  a  web  of  ample  size. 
Wherein  there  chanced  one  day  to  fall 

A  couple  of  very  imprudent  flies. 


—   74   — 

The  first  was  a  bottle-fly,  big  and  blue; 

The  second  was  smaller,  and  thin  and  long; 
So  there  was  a  concert  between  the  two, 

Like  an  octavo  flute  and  a  tavern  gong. 

Now,  being  from  Paris  but  recently. 

This  fine  young  man  would  show  his  skill; 

And  so  they  gave  him,  his  hand  to  try, 
A  hospital  patient  extremely  ill. 

Some  said  that  his  hver  was  short  of  bile, 
Aud  some  that  his  heart  was  over  size, 

While  some  kept  arguing  all  the  while 

He  was  crammed  with  tubercles  up  to  his  eyes. 

This  fine  young  man  then  up  stepped  he. 
And  all  the  doctors  made  a  pause. 

Said  he:     "The  man  must  die,  you  see, 
By  the  fifty-seventh  of  Louis's  laws. 

"But  since  the  case  is  a  desperate  one. 
To  explore  his  chest  it  may  be  well; 

For  if  he  should  die  and  it  were  not  done. 
You  know  the  autopsy  would  not  tell." 

Then  out  his  stethoscope  he  took, 

And  on  it  placed  his  curious  ear; 
''  Mon  Dieu!''  said  he,  with  a  knowing  look, 

"Why,  here  is  a  sound  that's  mighty  queer! 

"The  bourdonnement  is  very  clear — 

A mphoric  b uzzing,  as  I'm  alive!" 
Five  doctors  took  their  turn  to  hear; 

'''Amphoric  buzzing,''  said  all  the  five. 

"There's  empyema,  be^'ond  a  doubt; 

We'll  plunge  a  trocar  in  his  side." — 
The  diagnosis  was  made  out. 

They  tapped  the  patient;  so  he  died. 


—  75  — 

Now,  such  as  hate  new-fashioned  toys 

Began  to  look  extremely  glum; 
They  said  that  rattles  were  made  for  boys, 

And  vowed  that  his  buzzing  was  all  a  hum. 

There  was  an  old  lady  had  long  been  sick, 
And  what  was  the  matter  none  did  know; 

Her  pulse  was  slow,  though  her  tongue  was  quick; 
To  her  this  knowing  youth  must  go. 

So  there  the  nice  old  lady  sat. 

With  phials  and  boxes  all  in  a  row; 
She  asked  the  young  doctor  what  he  was  at, 

To  thump  her  and  tumble  her  ruffles  so. 

Now,  when  the  stethoscope  came  out. 

The  flies  began  to  buzz  and  whiz. — 
"Oho!  the  matter  is  clear,  no  doubt; 

An  atieurism  there  plainly  is. 

"  The  bruit  de  rape  and  the  bruit  de  scie 
And  the  bruit  de  diable  are  all  combined. 

How  happy  Bouillaud  would  be, 
If  he  a  case  like  this  could  find!  " 

Now,  when  the  neighboring  doctors  found 

A  case  so  rare  had  been  described, 
They  every  day  her  ribs  did  pound 

In  squads  of  twenty;  so  she  died. 

Then  six  young  damsels,  slight  and  frail. 
Received  this  kind  young  doctor's  cares; 

They  all  were  getting  slim  and  pale. 

And  short  of  breath  on  mounting  stairs. 

They  all  made  rhymes  with  "sighs"  and  "skies," 
And  loathed  their  puddings  and  buttered  rolls. 

And  dieted,  much  to  their  friends'  surprise. 
On  pickles  and  pencils  and  chalk  and  coals. 


-  76  - 

So  fast  their  little  hearts  did  bound, 

The  frightened  insects  buzzed  the  more; 

So  over  all  their  chests  he  found 
The  rdle  sifflant  and  the  rale  sonore. 

He  shook  his  head:     "There's  grave  disease; 

I  greatly  fear  you  all  must  die; 
A  "sXig^xX.  post-mortem^  if  you  please, 

Surviving  friends  would  gratify." 

The  six  young  damsels  wept  aloud, 
Which  so  prevailed  on  six  young  men 

That  each  his  honest  love  avowed, 
Whereat  they  all  got  well  again. 

This  poor  young  man  was  all  aghast; 

The  price  of  stethoscope  came  down; 
And  so  he  was  reduced  at  last 

To  practice  in  a  country  town. 

The  doctors,  being  very  sore, 

A  stethoscope  they  did  devise 
That  had  a  rammer  to  clear  the  bore. 

With  a  knob  at  the  end  to  kill  the  flies. 

Now  use  your  ears,  all  you  that  can, 
But  don't  forget  to  mind  your  eyes, 

Or  you  may  be  cheated,  like  this  young  man. 
By  a  couple  of  silly,  abnormal  flies. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  A  MEDICAL  POEM. 

The  Stability  of  Science. 

The  feeble  sea-birds,  blinded  in  the  storms. 
On  some  tall  lighthouse  dash  their  little  forms. 
And  the  rude  granite  scatters  for  their  pains 
Those  small  deposits  that  were  meant  for  brains. 


—   77  — 

Yet  the  proud  fabric  in  the  morning's  sun 

Stands  all  unconscious  of  the  mischief  done; 

Still  the  red  beacon  pours  its  evening  rays 

For  the  lost  pilot  with  as  full  a  blaze, 

Nay,  shines,  all  radiance,  o'er  the  scattered  fleet 

Of  gulls  and  boobies  brainless  at  its  feet. 

I  tell  their  fate,  though  courtesy  disclaims 

To  call  our  kind  by  such  ungentle  names; 

Yet,  if  your  rashness  bid  you  vainly  dare. 

Think  of  their  doom,  ye  simple,  and  beware! 

See  where  aloft  its  hoary  forehead  rears 

The  towering  pride  of  twice  a  thousand  years! 

Far,  far  below  the  vast  incumbent  pile 

Sleeps  the  gray  rock  from  art's  JEgean  isle; 

Its  massive  courses,  circling  as  they  rise, 

Swell  from  the  waves  to  mingle  with  the  skies; 

There  every  quarry  lends  its  marble  spoil. 

And  clustering  ages  blend  their  common  toil; 

The  Greek,  the  Roman,  reared  its  ancient  walls. 

The  silent  Arab  arched  its  mystic  halls; 

In  that  fair  niche,  by  countless  billows  laved, 

Trace  the  deep  lines  that  Sydenham  engraved; 

On  yon  broad  front  that  breasts  the  changing  swell, 

Mark  where  the  ponderous  sledge  of  Hunter  fell; 

By  the  square  buttress  look  where  Louis  stands, 

The  stone  yet  warm  from  his  uplifted  hands; 

And  say,  O  Science,  shall  thy  life-blood  freeze. 

When  fluttering  folly  flaps  on  walls  like  these  ? 

A   Portrait. 

Thoughtful  in  youth,  but  not  austere  in  age; 
Calm,  but  not  cold,  and  cheerful  though  a  sage; 
Too  true  to  flatter,  and  too  kind  to  sneer, 
And  only  just  when  seemingly  severe; 


-  78  - 

So  gently  blending  courtesy  and  art 

That  wisdom's  lips  seemed  borrowing  friendship's  heart. 

Taught  by  the  sorrows  that  his  age  had  known 

In  others'  trials  to  forget  his  own, 

As  hour  by  hour  his  lengthened  day  declined, 

A  sweeter  radiance  lingered  o'er  his  mind. 

Cold  were  the  lips  that  spoke  his  early  praise. 

And  hushed  the  voices  of  his  morning  days, 

Yet  the  same  accents  dwelt  on  every  tongue. 

And  love  renewing  kept  him  ever  young. 

A   Sentiment. 

Ofiloi  (^paxv — life  is  but  a  song; 
^Uteuvti  naxpr] — art  is  wondrous  long; 
Yet  to  the  wise  her  paths  are  ever  fair. 
And  Patience  smiles,  though  Genius  may  despair. 
Give  us  but  knowledge,  though  by  slow  degrees. 
And  blend  our  toil  with  moments  bright  as  these; 
Let  Friendship's  accents  cheer  our  doubtful  way. 
And  Love's  pure  planet  lend  its  guiding  ray, 
Our  tardy  Art  shall  wear  an  angel's  wings, 
And  life  shall  lengthen  with  the  joy  it  brings 

THE    VOICELESS. 

We  count  the  broken  lyres  that  rest 
Where  the  sweet-wailing  singers  slumber. 

But  o'er  their  silent  sister's  breast 
The  wild-flowers  who  will  stoop  to  number? 

A  few  can  touch  the  magic  string. 
And  noisy  Fame  is  proud  to  win  them: — 

Alas  for  those  that  never  sing, 
But  die  with  all  their  music  in  them! 


—   79  — 

Nay,  grieve  not  for  the  dead  alone 
Whose  song  has  told  their  heart's  sad  story — 

Weep  for  the  voiceless,  who  have  known 
The  cross  without  the  crown  of  glory! 

Not  where  Leucadian  breezes  sweep 
O'er  Sappho's  memory-haunted  billow, 

But  where  the  glistening  night-dews  weep 
On  nameless  sorrow's  churchyard  pillow. 

O  hearts  that  break  and  give  no  sign 
5ave  whitening  lip  and  fading  tresses, 

Till  Death  pours  out  his  cordial  wine 
Slow-dropped  from  Misery's  crushing  presses, — 

If  singing  breath  or  echoing  chord 
To  every  hidden  pang  were  given, 

What  endless  melodies  were  poured, 
As  sad  as  earth,  as  sweet  as  heaven! 

THE     CHAMBERED    NAUTILUS. 

This  is  the  ship  of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign. 

Sails  the  unshadowed  main — 

The  venturous  bark  that  flings 
On  the  sweet  summer  wind  its  purpled  wings 
In  gulfs  enchanted,  where  the  Siren  sings. 

And  coral  reefs  lie  bare, 
Where  the  cold  sea-maids  rise  to  sun  their  streaming  hair. 

Its  webs  of  living  gauze  no  more  unfurl; 

Wrecked  is  the  ship  of  pearl! 

And  every  chambered  cell 
Where  its  dim  dreaming  life  was  wont  to  dwell, 
As  the  frail  tenant  shaped  his  growing  shell. 

Before  thee  lies  revealed — 
Its  irised  ceiling  rent,  its  sunless  crypt  unsealed! 


—  8o  — 

Year  after  year  beheld  the  silent  toil 

That  spread  his  lustrous  coil; 

Still,  as  the  spiral  grew, 
He  left  the  past  year's  dwelling  for  the  new, 
Stole  with  soft  step  its  shining  archway  through, 

Built  up  its  idle  door, 
Stretched  in  his  last-found  home,  and  knew  the  old  no  more 

Thanks  for  the  heavenly  message  brought  by  thee, 

Child  of  the  wandering  sea. 

Cast  from  her  lap,  forlorn! 
From  thy  dead  lips  a  clearer  note  is  born 
Than  ever  Triton  blew  from  wreathed  horn' 

While  on  mine  ear  it  rings, 
Through  the  deep  cave  of  thought  I  hear  a  voice  that  sings: — 

Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  O  my  soul. 

As  the  swift  seasons  roll! 

Leave  thy  low-vaulted  past! 
Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  last. 
Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast. 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free. 
Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting  sea! 

RIP    VAN    WINKLE,    M.D. 

An  aftej'-dinner prescription  taken  by  the  Massachusetts  Medical 
Society,  at  their  meeting  held  May  2^,  1870. 

CANTO    FIRST. 

Old  Rip  Van  Winkle  had  a  grandson,  Rip, 
Of  the  paternal  block  a  genuine  chip — 
A  lazy,  sleepy,  curious  kind  of  chap; 
He,  like  his  grandsire,  took  a  mighty  nap. 
Whereof  the  story  I  propose  to  tell 
In  two  brief  cantos,  if  you  listen  well. 


—  «I  ~ 

The  times  were  hard  when  Rip  to  manhood  grew; 
They  always  will  be  when  there's  work  to  do. 
He  tried  at  farming — found  it  rather  slow — 
And  then  at  teaching — what  he  didn't  know; 
Then  took  to  hanging  round  the  tavern  bars, 
To  frequent  toddies  and  long-nine  cigars, 
Till  Dame  Van  Winkle,  out  of  patience,  vexed 
With  preaching  homilies,  having  for  their  text 
A  mop,  a  broomstick — aught  that  might  avail 
To  point  a  moral  or  adorn  a  tale — 
Exclaimed:     "  I  have  it  !  Now  then,  Mr.  V.! 
He's  good  for  something — make  him  an  M.  D.!  " 

The  die  was  cast;  the  youngster  was  content; 

They  packed  his  shirts  and  stockings,  and  he   went. 

How  hard  he  studied  it  were  vain  to  tell; 

He  drowsed  through  Wistar,  nodded  over  Bell, 

Slept  sound  with  Cooper,  snored  aloud  on  Good; 

Heard  heaps  of  lectures — doubtless  understood — 

A  constant  listener,  for  he  did  not  fail 

To  carve  his  name  on  every  bench  and  rail. 

Months  grew  to  years;  at  last  he  counted  three, 

And  Rip  Van  Winkle  found  himself  M.  D. 

Illustrious  title  !  in  a  gilded  frame 

He  set  the  sheepskin  with  his  Latin  name, 

Ripum  Van  Winklum,  quem  we — scimus — know 

Idoneum  esse — to  do  so-and-so. 

He  hired  an  office;  soon  its  walls  displayed 

His  new  diploma  and  his  stock  in  trade, 

A  mighty  arsenal  to  subdue  disease. 

Of  various  names,  whereof  I  mention  these: 

Lancets  and  bougies,  great  and  little  squirt. 

Rhubarb  and  senna,  snakeroot,  thoroughwort. 

Ant.  tart.,  vin.  colch.,  pil.  cochiae,  and  black  drop, 

6    GGG 


—    82    — 

Tinctures  of  opium,  gentian,  henbane,  hop, 
Pulv.  ipecacuanhae — which,  for  lack 
Of  breath  to  utter,  men  call  ipecac — 
Camphor  and  kino,  turpentine,  tolu, 
Cubebs,  "copeevy,"  vitriol — white  and  blue. 
Fennel  and  flaxseed,  slippery  elm  and  squill, 
And  roots  of  sassafras,  and  "  sassaf'rill;" 
Brandy — for  colics;  pinkroot — death  on  worms; 
Valerian^  calmer  of  hysteric  squirms; 
Musk;  asafoetida,  the  resinous  gum 
Named  from  its  odor — well,  it  does  smell  some — 
Jalap,  that  works  not  wisely  but  too  well; 
Ten  pounds  of  bark  and  six  of  calomel. 

For  outward  griefs  he  had  an  ample  store. 

Some  twenty  jars  and  gallipots,  or  more: 

Ceratu?n  simplex — housewives  oft  compile 

The  same  at  home,  and  call  it  "  wax  and  ile;" 

Unguentum  Resinosum — change  its  name. 

The  "drawing  salve"  of  many  an  ancient  dame; 

Argenti  Nitras;  also  Spanish  flies. 

Whose  virtue  makes  the  water-bladders  rise — 

(Some  say  that  spread  upon  the  toper's  skin 

They  draw  no  water,  only  rum  or  gin) — 

Leeches,, sweet  vermin!  don't  they  charm  the  sick  ? 

And  sticking-plaster — how  it  hates  to  stick! 

EiJiplastriim  Ferri — ditto  Picis,  pitch; 

Washes  and  powders;  brimstone  for  the — which. 

Scabies  or  psora,  is  thy  chosen  name 

Since  Hahnemann's  goose-quill  scratched  thee  into  fame. 

Proved  thee  the  source  of  every  nameless  ill. 

Whose  sole  specific  is  a  moonshine  pill. 

Till  saucy  Science,  with  a  quiet  grin. 

Held  up  the  Acarus,  crawling  on  a  pin  ? 

— Mountains  have  labored  and  have  brought  forth  mice: 


-  83  - 

The  Dutchman's  theory  hatched  a  brood  of twice 

I've  wellnigh  said  them — words  unfitting  quite 
For  these  fair  precincts  and  for  ears  polite. 

The  surest  foot  may  chance  at  last  to  slip, 
And  so  at  length  it  proved  with  Doctor  Rip. 
One  full-sized  bottle  stood  upon  the  shelf 
Which  held  the  medicine  which  he  took  himself; 
Whate'er  the  reason,  it  must  be  confessed 
He  filled  that  bottle  oftener  than  the  rest; 
What  drug  it  held  I  don't  presume  to  know — 
The  gilded  label  said:     "  Elixir  Pro." 

One  day  the  Doctor  found  the  bottle  full, 
And,  being  thirsty,  took  a  vigorous  pull, 
Put  back  the  "  Elixir"  where  'twas  always  found. 
And  had  old  Dobbin  saddled  and  brought  round. 
— You  know  those  old-time  rhubarb-colored  nags 
That  carried  doctors  and  their  saddle-bags; 
Sagacious  beasts  I  they  stopped  at  every  place 
Where  blinds  were  shut — knew  every  patient's  case — 
Looked  up  and  thought — the  baby's  in  a  fit — 
That  won't  last  long — he'll  soon  be  through  with  it; 
But  shook  their  heads  before  the  knockered  door 
Where  some  old  lady  told  the  story  o'er 
Whose  endless  stream  of  tribulation  flows 
For  gastric  griefs  and  peristaltic  woes. 

What  jack-o'-lantern  led  him  from  his  way, 
And  where  it  led  him,  it  were  hard  to  say; 
Enough  that,  wandering  many  a  weary  mile 
Through  paths  the  mountain  sheep  trod  single  file, 
O'ercome  by  feelings  such  as  patients  know 
Who  dose  too  freely  with  "Elixir  Pro.," 
He  tumbl — dismounted,  slightly  in  a  heap. 
And  lay,  promiscuous,  lapped  in  balmy  sleep. 


-  84  - 

Night  followed  night,  and  day  succeeded  day, 

But  snoring  still  the  slumbering  Doctor  lay. 

Poor  Dobbin,  starving,  thought  upon  his  stall, 

And  straggled  homeward,  saddle-bags  and  all. 

The  village  people  hunted  all  around, 

But  Rip  was  missing — never  could  be  found. 

"  Drownded,"  they  guessed; — for  more  than  half  a  year 

The  pouts  and  eels  did  taste  uncommon  queer. 

Some  said  of  apple-brandy — other  some 

Found  a  strong  flavor  of  New  England  rum. 

Why  can't  a  fellow  hear  the  fine  things  said 

About  a  fellow  when  a  fellow's  dead? 

The  best  of  doctors— so  the  press  declared— 

A  public  blessing  while  his  life  was  spared. 

True  to  his  country,  courteous  to  the  poor, 

In  all  things  temperate,  sober,  just,  and  pure; 

The  best  of  husbands!  echoed  Mrs.  Van, 

And  set  her  cap  to  catch  another  man. 

—So  ends  this  Canto— if  it's  quantum  stiff.. 

We'll  just  stop  here  and  say  we've  had  enough. 

And  leave  poor  Rip  to  sleep  for  thirty  years. 

I  grind  the  organ— if  you  lend  your  ears 

To  hear  my  second  Canto;   after  that 

We'll  send  around  the  monkey  with  the  hat. 

CANTO  SECOND. 

So  thirty  years  had  passed— but  not  a  word 

In  all  that  time  of  Rip  was  ever  heard; 

The  world  wagged  on — it  never  does  go  back — 

The  widow  Van  was  now  the  widow  Mac — 

France  was  an  empire— Andrew  J.  was  dead, 

And  Abraham  L.  was  reigning  in  his  stead. 

Four  murderous  years  had  passed  in  savage  strife. 


_  85  - 

Yet  still  the  rebel  held  his  bloody  knife. 

— At  last  one  morning — who  forgets  the  day 

When  the  black  cloud  of  war  dissolved  away  ? — 

The  joyous  tidings  spread  o'er  land  and  sea, 

Rebellion  done  for!     Grant  has  captured  Lee! 

Up  every  flagstaff  sprang  the  Stars  and  Stripes — 

Out  rushed  the  "  extras  "  wild  with  mammoth  types — 

Down  went  the  laborer's  hod,  the  schoolboy's  book: 

"  Hooraw!  "  he  cried,  "  the  rebel  army's  took!  " 

Ah!  v/hat  a  time!  the  folks  all  mad  with  joy: 

Each  fond,  pale  mother  thinking  of  her  boy; 

Old  gray-haired  fathers  meeting — Have — you — heard  ? 

And  then  a  choke — and  not  another  word; 

Sisters  all  smiling — maidens,  not  less  dear. 

In  trembling  poise  between  a  smile  and  tear; 

Poor  Bridget  thinking  how  she'll  stuff  the  plums 

In  that  big  cake  for  Johnny  when  he  comes; 

Cripples  afoot;  rheumatics  on  the  jump; 

Old  girls  so  loving  they  could  hug  the  pump; 

Guns  going  bang!   from  every  fort  and  ship — 

They  banged  so  loud  at  last  they  wakened  Rip. 

I  spare  the  picture,  how  a  man  appears 
Who's  been  asleep  a  score  or  two  of  years; 
You  all  have  seen  it  to  perfection  done 
By  Joe  Van  Wink — I  mean  Rip  Jefferson. 
Well,  so  it  was;  old  Rip  at  last  came  back, 
Claimed  his  old  wife — the  present  widow  Mac — 
Had  his  old  sign  regilded,  and  began 
To  practice  physic  on  the  same  old  plan. 

Some  weeks  went  by — it  was  not  long  to  wait — 
And  "  Please  to  call  "  grew  frequent  on  the  slate. 
He  had,  in  fact,  an  ancient,  mildewed  air, 
A  long  gray  beard,  a  plenteous  lack  of  hair — 


—  86  — 

The  musty  look  that  always  recommends 
Your  good  old  doctor  to  his  ailing  friends. 
— Talk  of  your  science!  after  all  is  said 
There's  nothing  like  a  bare  and  shining  head; 
Age  lends  the  graces  that  are  sure  to  please; 
Folks  want  their  doctors  mouldy,  like  their  cheese. 

So  Rip  began  to  look  at  people's  tongues 

And  thump  their  briskets  (called  it  "  sound  their,lungs  "), 

Brushed  up  his  knowledge  smartly  as  he  could, 

Read  in  old  Cullen  and  in  Doctor  Good. 

The  town  was  healthy;  for  a  month  or  two 

He  gave  the  sexton  little  work  to  do. 

About  the  time  when  dog-day  heats  begin. 
The  summer's  usual  maladies  set  in; 
With  autumn  evenings  dysentery  came. 
And  dusky  typhoid  lit  his  smouldering  flame; 
The  blacksmith  ailed,  the  carpenter  was  down, 
And  half  the  children  sickened  in  the  town. 
The  sexton's  face  grew  shorter  than  before — 
The  sexton's  wife  a  brand-new  bonnet  wore — 
Things  looked  quite  serious — Death  had  got  a  grip 
On  old  and  young,  in  spite  of  Doctor  Rip. 

And  now  the  Squire  was  taken  with  a  chill — 
Wife  gave  "  hot  drops  " — at  night  an  Indian  pill; 
Next  morning,  feverish;    bedtime,  getting  worse — 
Out  of  his  head — began  to  rave  and  curse; 
The  Doctor  sent  for — double-quick  he  came: 
Ant.  Tart.  gran,  duo,  and  repeat  the  same 
If  no  et  cetera.     Third  day — nothing  new; 
Percussed  his  thorax  till  'twas  black  and  blue — 
Lung-fever  theatening — something  of  the  sort — 
Out  with  the  lancet — let  him  bleed — a  quart — 
Ten  leeches  next — then  blisters  to  his  side — 
Ten  grains  of  calomel —     Just  then  he  died. 


-  87  - 

The  Deacon  next  required  the  Doctor's  care — 

Took  cold  by  sitting  in  a  draught  of  air — 

Pains  in  the  back,  but  what  the  matter  is 

Not  quite  so  clear — wife  calls  it  "  rheumatiz." 

Rubs  back  with  flannel — gives  him  something  hot — 

"Ah  !  "  says  the  Deacon,  "  that  goes  nigh  the  spot." 

Next  day  a  rigor — "  Run,  my  little  man, 

And  say  the  Deacon  sends  for  Doctor  Van." 

The  Doctor  came — percussion  as  before. 

Thumping  and  banging  till  his  ribs  were  sore — 

"  Right  side  the  flatt-est  " — then  more  vigorous  raps — 

"  Fever — that's  certain — pleurisy,  perhaps. 

A  quart  of  blood  will  ease  the  pain,  no  doubt. 

Ten  leeches  next  will  help  to  suck  it  out. 

Then  clap  a  blister  on  the  painful  part — 

But  first  two  grains  of  Anthnottium  Tart.; 

Last,  with  a  dose  of  cleansing  calomel 

Unload  the  portal  system — (that  sounds  well  !)" 

But  when  the  selfsame  remedies  were  tried. 
As  all  the  village  knew,  the  Squire  had  died; 
The  neighbors  hinted:     "This  will  never  do; 
He's  killed  the  Squire — he'll  kill  the  Deacon  too." 

— Now  when  a  doctor's  patients  are  perplexed, 

A  consultation  comes  in  order  next — 

You  know  what  that  is  ?     In  a  certain  place 

Meet  certain  doctors  to  discuss  a  case 

And  other  matters,  such  as  weather,  crops, 

Potatoes,  pumpkins,  lager  beer,  and  hops. 

For  what's  the  use? — there's  little  to  be  said; 

Nine  times  in  ten  your  man's  as  good  as  dead; 

At  best  a  talk  (the  secret  to  disclose) 

Where  three  men  guess  and  sof?tetimes  one  man  knows. 


—  88  — 

The  counsel  summoned  came  without  delay — 

Young  Doctor  Green  and  shrewd  old  Doctor  Gray. 

They  heard  the  story — "  Bleed?"  says  Doctor  Green — 

"That's  downright  murder  !    Cut  his  throat,  you  mean  ! 

Leeches  !  the  reptiles  !     Why,  for  pity's  sake. 

Not  try  an  adder  or  a  rattlesnake? 

Blisters  !     Why,  bless  you,  they're  against  the  law — 

It's  rank  assault  and  battery  if  they  draw  ! 

Tartrate  of  antimony  !  shade  of  Luke, 

Stomachs  turn  pale  at  thought  of  such  rebuke  ! 

The  portal  system  !     What's  the  man  about? 

Unload  your  nonsense  !     Calomel's  played  out ! 

You've  been  asleep — you'd  better  sleep  away 

Till  some  one  calls  you." 

"  Stop  !"  says  Doctor  Gray — 
"  The  story  is  you  slept  for  thirty  years; 
With  brother  Green,  I  own  that  it  appears 
You  must  have  slumbered  most  amazing  sound; 
But  sleep  once  more  till  thirty  years  come  round. 
You'll  find  the  lancet  in  its  honored  place, 
Leeches  and  blisters  rescued  from  disgrace. 
Your  drugs  redeemed  from  fashion's  passing  scorn 
And  counted  safe  to  give  to  babes  unborn." 

Poor  sleepy  Rip,  M.  M.  S.  S.,  M.  D., 
A  puzzled,  serious,  saddened  man  was  he; 
Home  from  the  Deacon's  house  he  plodded  slow 
And  filled  one  bumper  of  "  Elixir  Pro." 
"Good  by,"  he  faltered,  "Mrs.  Van,  my  dear! 
I'm  going  to  sleep;  but  wake  me  once  a  year; 
I  don't  like  bleaching  in  the  frost  and  dew — 
I'll  take  the  barn,  if  all  the  same  to  you. 
Just  once  a  year — remember  !  no  mistake  ! 


Cry,   '  Rip  Van  Winkle  !  time  for  you  to  wake  !' 
Watch  for  the  week  in  May  when  laylocks  blow, 
For  then  the  doctors  meet,  and  I  must  go." 

Just  once  a  year  the  Doctor's  worthy  dame 

Goes  to  the  barn  and  shouts  her  husband's  name: 

"  Come,  Rip  Van  Winkle  !"  (giving  him  a  shake) 

"  Rip  !   Rip  Van  Winkle  !  time  for  you  to  wake  ! 

Laylocks  in  blossom  !  'tis  the  month  of  May — 

The  doctors'  meeting  is  this  blessed  day. 

And,  come  what  will,  you  know  I  heard  you  swear 

You'd  never  miss  it,  but  be  always  there  !" 

And  so  it  is,  as  every  year  comes  round 
Old  Rip  Van  Winkle  here  is  always  found. 
You'll  quickly  know  him  by  his  mildewed  air, 
The  hayseed  sprinkled  through  his  scanty  hair, 
The  lichens  growing  on  his  rusty  suit — 
I've  seen  a  toadstool  sprouting  on  his  boot — 
Who  says  I  lie?     Does  any  man  presume? — 
Toadstool?     No  matter — call  it  a  mushroom. 
Where  is  his  seat?     He  moves  it  every  year; 
But  look,  you'll  find  him — he  is  always  here — 
Perhaps  you'll  track  him  by  a  whiff  you  know, 
A  certain  flavor  of  "  Elixir  Pro." 

Now,  then,  I  give  you — as  you  seem  to  think 
We  can  give  toasts  without  a  drop  to  drink — 
Health  to  the  mighty  sleeper — long  live  he  ! 
Our  brother  Rip,  M.  M.  S.  S.,  M.  D.! 

Charles  James  Lever. — All  who  have  read  the 
■*' Confession  of  Harry  Lorrequer,"    "  Charles  O'Mal- 

ley,"  or  other  of  his  novels  in   which  Irish  character 
and  Irish  wit  are  set  forth  in  their  truest  colors,  will  not 


—  90  — 

deny  that  Lever  was  a  genius  of  the  first  order.  He 
began  the  practice  of  medicine  in  Ireland,  and  pursued 
it  with  great  success.  In  consideration  of  noble  pro- 
fessional services  rendered  in  1832,  when  cholera  was 
epidemic,  he  was  appointed  physician  to  the  British 
embassy  at  Brussels,  and  when  his  success  as  an 
author  became  pronounced  he  retired  from  the  prac- 
tice. He  has  written  a  number  of  books  which  have 
had  a  phenomenal  sale  and  have  contributed  to  the 
merriment  of  the  world.  One  who  does  this  is  a 
benefactor. 

We  cannot  quote  in  this  limited  space  anything 
from  this  author  and  do  him  justice. 

Dr.  John  William  Draper. — One  of  the  most 
distinguished  gentlemen  in  our  profession  is  Dr.  John 
William  Draper,  Professor  of  Chemistry  in  the  Uni- 
versity of  New  York.  His  great  work,  "  History  of 
the  Conflict  between  Religion  and  Science,"  is  one  of 
the  most  philosophical  works  in  the  English  language, 
and  the  author's  fame  would  be  secure  had  he 
written  nothing  slse.  His  "  Human  Physiology  " 
and  "Organization  of  Plants"  are  works  which  will 
endure.  We  can  make  no  quotation  from  his  works 
because  they  would  demand  more  space  than  can  be 
allowed. 


INDEX  TO  AUTHORS  AND  QUOTATIONS. 


Page. 

Akenside,  Mark 44 

Inscription  for  a  Monument  to  Shakespeare 45 

Inscription  for  a  Statue  of  Chaucer  at  Woodstock.  .  46 

Patriotism 44 

Arbuthnot,  Dr.  John 36 

Know  Thyself 40 

Usefulness  of  Mathematical  Learning ...  37 

Armstrong,  John 51 

Over-indulgence  in  Wine 52 

Pestilence  of  the  Fifteenth   Century 53 

Blackmore,  Sir  Richard 33 

The  Scheme  of  Creation   36 

Browne,  Sir  Thomas 16 

Oblivion iS 

Of  Myself 25 

Charl"eton,  Dr.  Walter 25 

The  Ready  and  Nimble  Wit 26 

The  Slow  but  Sure  Wit 2S 

Crabbe,  George 66 

The  Parish  Workhouse  and  Apothecary  (from  "  The 

Village  "  ) 67 

Currie,  James 71 

Darwin,  Dr.  Erasmus 57 

Death  of  Eliza  at  the   Battle   of   Minden  (from  the 

"  Loves  of  the  Plants") 60 


—  92  — 

Page. 

Invocation    to    the    Goddess    of   Botany    (from    the 

*'  Botanic  Garden  ") 58 

Song  to  Echo 62 

Draper,  Dr.  John  William 90 

Garth,  Sir  Samuel 29 

Extract  from  "  The  Dispensary  " 30 

On  Death 33 

Goldsmith,  Oliver 55 

Extracts  from   "  The  Traveller  " 56 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell 73 

Extracts   from    a    Medical    Poem —The    Stability    of 

Science;  a  Portrait;  a  Sentiment  . 78 

Rip  Van  Winkle,  M.D 80 

The  Chambered  Nautilus 79 

The  Stethoscope  Song 73 

The  Voiceless 78 

Keats,   John 69 

On  England 71 

To  Autumn 70 

Lever,  Charles  James 89 

Locke,  John 6 

Causes  of  Weakness  in  Men's  Understandings 9 

Christmas  Ceremonies  at  Cleves 7 

History 14 

Pleasure  and  Pain 12 

MoiR,  David  Macbeth 71 

When  Thou  at  Eve  Art  Roaming '.  .  .  .  72 

Smollett,  Tobias  George 46 

Ode  to  Independence 74 


—  93  — 

Page. 

Vaughan,  Henry 3 

Early  Rising  and  Prayer 4 

The  Rainbow 5 

WoLCOTT,  Dr.  John -. 62 

The  Apple  Dumpling  and  a  King 65 

The  Pilgrims  and  the  Peas 63 


How  to  Administer  Iron. 


It  is  generally  conceded  that  the  officinal  tincture 
of  chloride  of  iron  is  the  most  valuable  of  the  iron 
preparations  therapeutically.  The  practical  difficulties 
attending-  its  administration  for  a  length  of  time  have 
been  its  disagreeably  astringent  taste,  its  corrosive 
action  on  the  teeth,  and  its  constipating  action. 

Dr.  G.  W.  Weld's  extensive  experience  in  the 
practice  of  dentistry  led  him  to  recognize  the  virtues 
of  the  tincture  of  the  chloride  of  iron  as  a  stimulant 
resource  for  patients  after  the  strain  of  the  dentist's 
work.  Repeated  experiments  to  obtain  a  formula  free 
from  the  objectionable  features  resulted  in  the  prepara- 
tion of  a  highly  palatable  syrup,  with  all  the  therapeu- 
tic efficacy  preserved.  This  has  been  extensively  tested 
and  placed  in  the  hands  of  Parke,  Davis  &  Co.  for 
manufacture,  who  strongly  recommend  it  to  the  medi- 
cal profession  for  trial.  Being  prepared  after  Dr. 
Weld's  formula,  it  is  entitled  Weld's  Syrup  of  Iron 
Chloride  (P.,  D.  &  Co.'s).  It  is  believed  it  will  effect  a 
revolution  in  iron  admmistration. 

Samples  will  be  sent,  on  receipt  of  request,  to 
physicians  who  indicate  their  willingness  to  pay  ex- 
press charges. 


PARKE,   DAVIS   &    COMPANY, 

DETROIT,    NEW    YORK    AND   KANSAS  CITY. 


—  OF  — 

GEORGE    S.    DAYIS,    Publislier. 

THE    THERAPEUTIC    GAZETTE. 

A.    Monthly  Journal   of    Physiological  and    Clinical  Therapeutics 

EDITED   BY 

H.  A.  HARE,   M.  D.,        G.  E.  DeSCHWElNlTZ,   M.  D.,       EDWARD  MARTIN,   M.   D. 

SUBSCRIPTION    PRICE,    $2.00    PER    YEAR. 

THE    INDEX    MEDICUS. 

A  Monthly  Classified  Record  of  the  Current  Medical  Literature  of  the  World. 

COMPILED    UNDER  THE   DIRECTION   OF 

DR.  JOHN  S.  BILLINGS,   Surgeon  U.  S.  A., 

and  DR.  ROBERT  FLETCHER,   M.  R.  C.  S.,  Eng. 

SUBSCRIPTION     PRICE,    $  1  O.OO    PER    YEAR. 
THE    AMERICAN    LANCET. 

EDITED   BY 

x.E^a.i?,T-crs  coisncsroi?,,  i^.  id. 

A    MONTHLY    JOURNAL     DEVOTED    TO     REGULAR     MEDICINE. 
SUBSCRIPTION     PRICE,    $2.00    PER    YEAR. 

THE    MEDICAL    AGE. 

EDITED   BY 

B.  -V7--  :e>  a  t.3vce:r.,  .a.,  ^yn.,  jsk.  id. 

A   Semi-Monthly   Journal    of  Practical    Medicine  and    Medical    News. 
SUBSCRIPTION     PRICE,    $  1  .OO    PER    YEAR. 

THE    ^WESTERN     MEDICAL    REPORTER. 

EDITED    BY 

vT.  :e.  :h:-a_e,i>ee,,  .a..  n^E.,  js/l.  id. 

A    MONTHLY    EPITOME    OF    MEDICAL    PROGRESS. 
SUBSCRIPTION  PRICE,  $  1  .OO  PER  YEAR. 

THE    BULLETIN    OF    PHARMACY. 

EDITED   BY 

JB.    -^^V.    I^^^LIVCEI^,    .A..    ImE.,    H/L.    id. 

A   Monthly  Exponent  of  Pharnnaceutical  Progress  and  Ne-ws. 

SUBSCRIPTION     PRICE,     $  1  .OO    A    YEAR. 


New  subscribers  taking  more  than  one  journal,  and  accompanying  subscription- 
by  remittance,  are  entitled  to  the  following  special  rates: 

GAZETTE  and  AGE,  $-2.50  ;  GAZETTE,  AGE  and  LANCET.  $4.00  ;  LANCET 
and  AGE,  $2.50 ;  WESTERN  MEDICAL  REPORTER  or  BULLETIN  with  any  of 
the  above  at  20  per  cent,  less  than  regular  rates. 

Combined,  these  journals  furnish  a  complete  working  library  of  current  medi- 
cal literature,  all  the  medical  news,  and  full  reports  of  medical  progress. 


aSO.  S.  DAYIS,  Publislier,  Detroit,  Micli. 


IN     EXPLANATION 


OF 


le  Plysicians'  Leisore  Litay. 

We  have  made  a  new  departure  in  the  publication  of  medical  books.  As  you 
no  doubt  know,  many  of  the  large  treatises  published,  which  sell  for  four  or  five  or 
more  dollars,  contain  much  irreievant  matter  of  no  practical  value  to  the  physi- 
cian, and  their  high  price  makes  it  often  impossible  for  the  average  practitioner  to 
purchase  anything  like  a  complete  library. 

Believing  that  short  practical  treatises,  prepared  by  well  known  authors,  con- 
taining the  gist  of  what  they  had  to  say  regarding  the  treatment  of  diseases  com- 
monly met  with,  and  of  which  they  had  made  a  special  study,  sold  at  a  small  price, 
would  be  welcomed  by  the  majority  of  the  profession,  we  have  arranged  for  the 
pubUcation  of  such  a  series,  calling  it  The  Pliysiciaiis'  Leisure  liibrary. 

This  series  has  met  with  the  approval  and  appreciation  of  the  medical  profes- 
sion, and  we  shall  continue  to  issue  in  it  books  by  eminent  authors  of  this  country 
and  Europe,  covering  the  best  modern  treatment  of  prevalent  diseases. 

The  series  will  certainly  afford  practitioners  and  students  an  opportunity 
never  before  presented  for  obtaining  a  working  library  of  books  by  the  best  authors 
at  a  price  which  places  them  within  the  reach  of  all.  The  books  are  amply  illus- 
trated, and  issued  in  attractive  form. 

They  may  be  had  bound,  either  in  durable  paper  covers  at  25  Cts.  per  copy, 
or  in  cloth  at  50  Cts.  per  copy.  Complete  series  of  12  books  in  sets  as  annoanced, 
at  $2.50,  in  paper,  or  cloth  at  $5.00,  postage  prepaid.     See  complete  list. 


PHYSICIANS'  LEISURE  LIBRARY 


PmCEi    PAPER,  25  CTS.  PER  COPY,  $2.50  PER  SET;  CLOTH,  50  CTS.  PER  COPY, 
$5.00  PER  SET. 


SERIES  I. 


Inhalers,  Inhalations  and  inhalants. 
By  Beverley  Robinson,  M.  D. 

The  Use  of  Electricity  in  the  Removal  of 
Superfluous  Hair  and  the  Treatment  of 
Various  Facial  Blemishes. 

By  Geo.  Henry  Fox,  M.  D. 
New  Medications,  Vol.  I. 

By  Dujardin-Beaumetz,  M.  D. 
New  Medications,  Vol.  II. 

By  Dujardin-Beaumetz,  M.  D. 
The  Modern  Treatment  of  Ear  Diseases. 

By  Samuel  Sexton,  M.  D. 

The  Modern  Treatment  of  Eczema 
By  Henry  G.  Piffard,  M.  D. 


Antiseptic  Midwifery. 

By  Henry  J.  Garrigues,  M.  D. 
On  the  Determination  of  the  Necessity  for 
WearingGlasses. 

By  D.  B.  St.  John  Roosa,  M.  D. 
The  Physiological, Pathological  and  Ther- 
apeutic Effects  of  Compressed  Air. 

By  Andrew  H.  Smith,  M.  D. 
GranularLidsandContagiousOphthalmJa. 

By  W.  F.  Mittendorf,  M.  D. 
Practical  Bacteriology. 

ByThomas  E.  Satterthwaite.  M.  D. 
Pregnancy,    Parturition,    the     Puerperal 
State  and  their  Complications. 

By  Paul  F.  Mundg,  M.  D. 


SERIES   II. 


The  Diagnosis  and  Treatment  of  Haem- 
orrhoids 

By  Chas.  B.  Kelsey,  M.  D. 
Diseases  of  the  Heart,  Vol.  I. 

By  Dujardin-Beaumetz,  M.  D. 
Diseases  of  the  Heart,  Vol.  II. 

By  Dujardin-Beaumetz,  M.  D. 
The  Modern  Treatment  of  Diarrhoea  and 
Dysentery. 

By  A.  B.   Palmer,  M.  D. 
ntestinal  Diseases  of  Children,  Vol.  I. 

By  A.  Jacobi,  M.  D. 
Intestinal  Diseases  of  Children,  Vol.  II. 

By  A.  Jacobi,  M.  D. 


The  Modern  Treatment  of  Headaches. 
By  Allan  McLane  Hamilton,  M.  D. 

The  Modern  Treatment  of  Pleurisy  and 
Pneumonia. 

By  G.  M.  Garland,  M.  D. 
Diseases  of  the  Male  Urethra. 

By  Fessenden  N.  Otis,  M.  D. 
The  Disorders  of  Menstruation. 

By  Edward  W.  Jenks,  M.  D. 
The  Infectious  Diseases,  Vol.  I. 

By  Karl  Liebermeister. 

The  Infectious  Diseases,  Vol. 
By  Karl  Liebermeister. 


SERIES   III. 


Abdominal  Surgery. 

By  Hal  C.  Wyman,  M.  D. 

Diseases  of  the  Liver 

By  Dujardin-Beaumetz,  M.  D. 

Hysteria  and  Epilepsy. 

By  J.  Leonard  Corning,  M.  D. 

Diseases  of  the  Kidney. 

By  Dujardin-Beaumetz,  M.  D. 

■  The  Theory  and  Practice  of  the  Ophthal- 
moscope. 

By  J.  Herbert  Claiborne,  Jr.,  M.  D. 

Modern  Treatment  of  Bright's  Disease. 
By  Alfred  L.  Loomis,  M.  D. 


Clinical  Lectures  on  Certain  Diseases  o 
Nervous  System. 

By  Prof.  J.  M.  Charcot,  M.  D. 
The  Radical  Cure  of  Hernia. 

By  Henry  O.  Marcy,  A.  M.,  M.  D., 
L.  L.  D. 
Spinal  Irritation. 

By  William  A.  Hammond,  M.  D. 
Dyspepsia. 

By  Frank  Woodbury,  M.  D. 
The  Treatment  of  the  Morphia  Habit. 

By  Erlenmeyer. 
The  Etiology,  Diagnosis  and  Therapy  of 
Tuberculosis 

By  Prof.  H.  von  Ziemssen. 


SERIES   IM. 


Nervous  Syphilis. 

By  H.  C.  Wood,  M.  D. 

Education  and   Culture  as  correlated   to 
the  Health  and  Diseases  of  Women. 
By  A.  J.  C.  Skene,  M.  D. 

Diabetes. 

By  A.  H.  Smith,  M   D. 

A  Treatise  on  Fractures. 

By  Armand  Despres,  M.  D. 
Some  Majorand  Minor  Fallacies  concern- 
ing Syphilis. 

By  E.  L.  Keyes,  M  .D. 
Hypodermic  Medication. 

By  Bourneville  and  Bricon. 


Practical    Points   in  the  Management  o 
Diseases  of  Children. 
By  L  N.  Love,  M.  D. 

Neuralgia. 

By  E.  P.  Hurd,  M.  D. 
Rheumatism  and  Gout. 

By  F.  Le  Roy  Satterlee,  M.  D. 
Electricity,  Its  Application  in  Medicine. 

By  Wellington  Adams,  M.D.     [Vol.1] 
Electricity,  Its  Application  in  Medicine. 

By  Wellington  Adams,  M.D.  [VoLII] 
Auscultation  and  Percussion. 

By  Frederick  C.  Shattuck,  M.  D. 


Taking  Cold. 

By  F.  H.  Bosworth,  M.  D. 

Practical  Notes  on  Urinary  Analysis. 
By  William  B.  Canfield,  M.  D. 

Practical  Intestinal  Surgery.    Vol.1. 

Practical  Intestinal  Surgery,    Vol.11. 

By  F.  B.  Robinson,  M.  D. 

Lectures  on  Tumors. 

By  John  B.  Hamilton,  M.  D.,  LL.  D 

Pulmonary  Consumption,  a  Nervous  Dis 
ease. 

By  Thomas  J.  Mays,  M.D. 


SERIES   V. 

j     Artificial  Anaesthetics  and  Anaesthesia. 
By  DeForest  Willard,  M.  D.,  and  Dr. 
Lewis  H.  Adler,  Jr. 

Lessons  in  the  Diagnosisand  Treatment 
of  Eye  Diseases. 

By  Casey  A.  Wood,  M.  D. 
The  Modern  Treatment  of  Hip  Disease 

By  Charles  F.  Stillman,  M.  D. 

Diseases  of  the  Bladder  and  Prostate 
By  Hal  C.  Wyman,  M.  D. 

Cancer. 

By  Daniel  Lewis,  M.  D. 

Insomnia  and  Hypnotics. 
By  Germain  See. 

Translated  by  E.  P.  Hurd,  M.  D. 


SERIES    VI.* 


The  Uses  of  Water  in  Modern  Medicine. 
Vol.1. 

The  Uses  of  Water  in  Modern  Medicine. 
Vol.  n. 
By  Simon  Baruch,  M.D. 

The  Electro-Therapeutics  of  Gynaecol- 
ogy- Vol.  I. 

The  Electro-Therapeutics  of  Gynaecol- 
ogy. Vol.  u. 

By  A.  H.  Goelet,  M    D. 
Cerebral  Meningitis. 

By  Martin  W.  Barr,  M.D. 

Contributions  of   Physicians  to    English 
and  American  Literature. 
By  Robert  C.  Kenner,  M.D. 


Gonorrhoea  and  Its  Treatment. 

By  G.  Frank  Lydston,  M.D. 
Acne  and  Alopecia. 

By  L.  Duncan  Bulkley,  M.D. 

Fissure  of  the  Anus  and  Fistula  in  Ano 
By  Dr.  Lewis  H.  Adler,  Jr. 

Modern  Minor  Surgical  Gynaecology. 
By  Edward  W.  Jenks,  M.D. 

Masstge  and  the   Swedish    Movement 
Cure. 

By  Baron  Nils  Posse. 

Sexual  Weakness  and  Impotence. 
By  Edward  Martin,  M.D. 


*  To  be  issued  one  a  month  during  1892. 


GEORGE    S.   DAVIS,   Publisher, 


P».  O.  Bo2r  ^'T'O 


IDetroit,  I^^Iicli. 


BOOKS  BY  LEADING  AUTHORS. 


SEXUAL  IMPOTENCE  IN  MALE  AND  FEMALE $3.00 

By  Wm.  A.  Hammond,  M.  D. 

PHYSICIANS'  PERFECT  VISITING  LIST i .  50 

By  G.  Archie  Stockwell,  M.  D. 

A  NEW  TREATMENT  OF  CHRONIC  METRITIS 50 

By  Dr.  Georges  Apostoli. 

CLINICAL  THERAPEUTICS 4.00 

By  Dujardin-Beaumetz,  M.  D. 

MICROSCOPICAL  DIAGNOSIS 4.00 

By  Prof.  Chas.  H.  Stowell,  M.  S. 

PALATABLE  PRESCRIBING. i  .00 

By  B.  W.  Palmer,  A.  M.,  M.  D. 

UNTOWARD  EFFECTS  OF  DRUGS 2.00 

By  L.  Lewin,  M.  D. 

SANITARY  SUGGESTIONS  (Paper) 25 

By  B.  W.  Palmer,  M.  D. 

SELECT  EXTRA-TROPICAL  PLANTS  3.00 

By  Baron  Ferd.  von  Muller, 

TABLES  FOR  DOCTOR  AND  DRUGGIST 2.00 

By  Eli  H.  Long,  M.  D. 


GEO.  S.  DAYIS,  Ptublislier, 

p.    O.     Box     470. 

DETROIT,        -        -        MICH. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARV 

Los  Angeles 
This  ,wW!m«  .*'  '^  '-''  .a^pedbdow. 


s 


ioM#y^if/ 


REC'D 


3  1158  01194  4963 


